Presupposing Suspicions
by FatesMistake
Summary: Harry and Severus become...friends? How odd...in Harry's Seventh Year. The trouble is, everyone around them thinks there's something more happening between them. How can they fight for a friendship against the odds when they both start to realize their own feelings really do run deeper? Can they keep their feelings hidden? From everyone? SSHP, AU, Rated M for Sexual Content.
1. Chapter 1

Severus looked up in frustration when a knock came at his classroom door. He already had a headache from grading First Year essays, and when he realized the time, his frustration grew. It was time for Potter's detention. The disrespectful, self-involved brat had been behaving oddly since his return to the school, and after his friends and Head of House had failed to discover from him what was going on his thick skull, Albus had asked Severus to try and glean what afflicted the seventeen year old Wizarding Savior. He didn't know why; he had never had what one might call a "good working relationship" with the boy, in fact it was a struggle not to strangle the reckless Gryffindor on a daily basis…but, he was indebted to the Headmaster, and to Lily, so he had agreed to at least _try_. He called for the waiting Seventh Year to enter.

The door opened and closed, and as Potter walked up to the desk, Severus got the deep sense that something actually _was_ wrong with the boy, something more than typical teenage angst. It was only a month into term, but there were heavy lines of stress and fatigue on the young face, the tan complexion now a ghostly pallor. The eyes that even Severus could admit had seen too much were glazed, and the shuffling gait was troubling, like Potter had to physically force each step. Still, there was the line of defiance in the set of the boy's spine, and an arrogant look on his face.

The Potions Master observed all of this with mild concern, but let none of it show. He didn't actually know how to address whatever was happening to the Boy Who Lived, he'd only assigned the detention as a reflex after the Headmaster had approached him during Lunch. Figuring an opportunity might present itself, Severus gestured to the far corner of the room, where there was a sink and counter piled high with stacks of First Year cauldrons.

"You know what to do by now," He said gruffly. "Clean the cauldrons without magic."

Potter glared at him, but turned without a word. Severus couldn't help but smirk when the 7th Year turned back aghast.

"There has to be twenty cauldrons! I'll be here 'til curfew cleaning that mess!" He argued.

"Then I suggest you get started," The Potions Master told the brat dismissively.

He turned back to his grading as Potter stormed back in the direction he had come and went about gathering the necessary supplies to clean the cauldrons. Until this moment, Severus had suspected that Potter's friends had exaggerated the odd behavior. Now, though, he could see the difference. Even the argument had been more for the sake of saying something than in real anger or disbelief. What was going on under that ridiculously untamable mop?

For the next few hours, Severus graded while he listened to the soft shuffle of the scrub brush against pewter. Where normally he would hear quiet, disdainful muttering throughout the process, Potter said not a word. After a while, Severus lost himself in the silent scrubbing. By the time he looked up after finishing his 4th Year essays, it really _was_ near curfew, and Potter had yet to come to him to declare himself finished. In fact, the scrubbing sounds had gone, and Severus didn't know how long for. Hoping to catch the Gryffindor in the midst of doing something wrong, the Potions Master stood and rounded his desk, silently approaching the corner.

He found Potter sitting beside a bucket of water, a half-cleaned cauldron perched in the fold of his legs. He was bent double over the cauldron, his cheek pressed against the lip, water-wrinkled fingers dangling from the edge. From what Severus could tell, it was the last cauldron…and Potter had fallen victim to an exhaustion that should have been obvious from the start.

Severus' first thought was to wake the brat and send him away, perhaps assign another detention for falling asleep. But something stopped him. The lines of strain that had been ingrained in the James Potter visage were gone, and he no longer looked as much like his father; though this would still not have stopped Severus from sending him away, had it been any other student. No, the thing that made him hesitate was that this was _Potter_. The brat hated him as much as Severus had hated the boy's namesake. The fact that he had fallen asleep so easily in Severus' presence said two things: This was almost certainly the first real sleep the boy had gotten in quite some time, and he trusted the Potions Master more than he let on. This boy, this young man, wasn't James' son in this moment, he was _Lily's_ son, with the weight of the world still resting on his shoulders even after he'd done his duty with the Dark Lord…and he was deeply troubled.

Making a decision Severus knew he'd probably come to regret, he knelt and plucked the cauldron from limp fingers, catching the too-thin creature before he could fall forward. Potter showed no sign of waking, and this troubled Severus further. He wasn't _sleeping_ , he had fallen _unconscious_. What nightmare could cause such exhaustion? The Potions Master and former Death Eater tenderly curled one arm around tense shoulders and the other under flimsy knees, then rose with the boy nestled in the crook of his elbows.

Potter did stir now, a slight frown creasing the pale forehead. Severus held his breath, scrambling for some explanation should the young man wake in his arms, but the test of Potter's trust in him was proved when he only huddled further into the black-clad shoulder. Severus couldn't help a frown of concern at how easy it had been to lift the Gryffindor. He was by no means a _weak_ man, he'd always had a hidden, wiry strength…but this was a somewhat muscular adult wizard, he should have had at least _some_ difficulty, no matter how slight the Gryffindor looked. Potter was obscenely underweight, and Severus guessed that if he lifted the baggy shirt he'd find a xylophone of ribs to go with the Quidditch-toned abs.

Carefully, Severus carried Potter from his classroom into the thankfully empty corridor (his Slytherins knew better than to be caught out after curfew, and it was near-enough that they were almost all stowed away in the Common Room by now). He made his way towards the East end of the corridor, wandlessly waved his office open, and went inside. He flinched when his under-used and overzealous wandless magic closed the door more firmly than he'd intended, but the Gryffindor in his arms only turned his face into Severus' shoulder and fisted a hand loosely in the fabric of his robes.

As Severus carted the Wizarding Savior into the hidden quarters attached to his office, he couldn't help but wonder how it had come to this. He knew the signs of neglect, personal or otherwise, from his own childhood, as well as dealt with it yearly from no less than a quarter of his Slytherins. It was obvious, _now_ , that Potter hadn't been sleeping at all lately, that he wasn't eating or caring for himself. It didn't smell as though Potter was neglecting his hygiene, yet, but that, Severus knew, was usually the last habit of self-preservation to be abandoned. So why hadn't he seen the signs, signs he was _trained_ to notice?

The answer caused guilt to clench at his heart: he hadn't wanted to. He'd had an image of who Potter was the first time he'd walked into the Great Hall. He looked like a carbon copy of his father, so he'd assumed a personality to match; he'd expected a shallow, self-absorbed, arrogant prick, and because he'd wanted to believe it, that was who Potter had become in his eyes. But no one who was suffering this much could be any of those things. Maybe he had been, before…but the guilt continued to gnaw at his heart. If he hadn't noticed the signs until now, how long might they have been there? Just because he'd always seen Potter acting like a normal adolescent, it didn't mean he was. Sirius Black, no matter how big of an arsehole he was, had been in an emotionally (and, according to Regulus, physically) abusive home, yet he had been perhaps the most happy-go-lucky kid in Hogwarts, next to the pampered James Potter.

Severus laid the young Potter out on his couch, summoning a pillow and blanket from his own bedroom. When the boy was situated, curled up slightly on his side, the Potions Master drew a stabilizing breath and reached for the arms that had once sported a golden tan. He studied each wrist carefully, whispering the finishing spell in case Potter had used glamour charms. He breathed with relief when the pale skin showed no sign of self-harm. He knew there were other places, secret places, that could be used, but he wasn't about to strip the young man, and the scans required had a bad habit of tangling with the patient's core, which would no doubt draw him from the depths of sleep. So, for now, he let himself believe that Potter hadn't discovered the double-edged sword that was self-mutilation.

When he was sure Potter wouldn't wake in his absence, Severus returned to his classroom. He gathered what remained of the grading to be done, and headed back to his rooms. It wasn't the first time he had utilized the desk there, but it was the first time he'd done so to safeguard a student. Dimly, a distant voice in his head queried almost nonchalantly if there wasn't some rule that forbade student's entering a professor's living quarters, but he ignored it.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry woke slowly and found himself bombarded by a number of things that assaulted his senses as being out of place. Clearing his mind, he sorted through them, trying to remember what had happened before he passed out from sheer exhaustion. He'd been cleaning cauldrons.

 _(the scratch of a quill as paper shuffled and a fire cracked)_

There had been an unusually stubborn spot on the last cauldron, and Harry had glanced at the clock. He'd still had an hour before curfew. If he could just get this spot, he could maybe get back to the Common Room and finish his homework before Hermione started badgering him.

 _(the smell of an unfamiliar shampoo, slightly floral, and a separate scent of sandalwood and rose, his favorite smell. Aunt Petunia always used mulched sandalwood around the base of the rose bushes in the backyard, and he'd spent many a pleasant summer afternoon and evening hiding from his relatives in the thorny, fragrant shade.)_

He'd been scrubbing at the spot, and everything had suddenly gone woozy. Snape had released him, hadn't he? But no, that had been a dream, wishful thinking at best. So…

 _(he was curled up on a couch, a blanket tangled with his legs and a pillow under his head)_

Harry shot up, and began kicking the blanket off his legs as he looked around for his glasses. Spotting them on an end-table near where his head had been, he pressed them onto his face. He was suddenly almost certain of where he was, whose bedding he'd been curled up with, and he had no desire to be here. Why the hell was he in _Snape's quarters_? He was fairly certain the burning hate he felt for the man was mutual (even if he secretly respected and admired the self-involved prick). So why hadn't Snape thrown him out on his ear when he'd fallen asleep, with another detention for good measure? Why had the man moved him at _all_?

"You fell asleep during your detention."

Harry almost gave himself whiplash when his head shot around to stare over the back of the couch at the man sitting at a desk in the corner. He glared suspiciously. What was Snape up to? No one did anything in this world without a price, especially not a Slytherin. So what did he want in return for the uncharacteristic kindness he'd shown in safeguarding his most-hated student's sleep?

The Gryffindor asked none of this. If the man wanted something, he could damn well come out and say it. Instead, he asked a question on a slightly safer topic.

"Since when do you wear glasses?"

Snape glared back at him and swiped the vaguely attractive half-moon spectacles off of his prominent nose. "If you must know, I require them when my eyes tire. Which, I should point out, is bound to happen when I'm awake into the wee hours of the morning waiting for my student to vacate my couch."

Harry glanced at a clock above the fireplace. It was two, five hours past curfew. Dammit. He turned on the couch, his legs finally free of Snape's blanket, and found his shoes thankfully lying neatly next to the leather furniture he'd been laid out on. If he was lucky, Hermione had already gone to bed, and he could get his homework finished before morning. None of it was due tomorrow, but it was already the middle of the week and she harangued him every time he waited this long to get it done.

"I didn't ask you to do that," Harry spat angrily. "You could've- _should_ have just woken me. I'd have been fine." He started trying to pull on his shoes, but was horrified to find they wouldn't cooperate.

"I made a decision as your professor," Snape excused lightly.

Harry scoffed as he tried to shove his foot into his sneaker. "Right, because you're the sort to help a student in need," He muttered. He twisted his toe awkwardly as it caught on the worn inner-lining of the shoe and gasped in pain. "Ah, bastard!" He tossed the shoe down in frustration and disgust as Snape rounded the couch. "Sorry… _Sir_."


	3. Chapter 3

Severus watched for a second as his student, angry and tired, agonized over his shoes. It was obvious Potter wasn't going to offer an explanation about what had led to him literally passing out. The Potions Master moved towards the couch quietly. At this point, it wasn't about gathering information for the Headmaster; he needed to know for his own peace of mind.

Potter hissed a swear and threw down his shoe in frustration. "Sorry… _Sir_."

Severus sat carefully on the couch, as far from his student as possible to prevent spooking the irritable young man. "Potter, I want to know what's bothering you."

The Gryffindor looked at him sideways with a half-hearted glare. "So that's it," He murmured with a huff of disbelief. "I might've known." He stood, gathering his shoes in hand. "I'm fine, there isn't a thing wrong with the Headmaster's _pet_. That should satisfy the old man's curiosity."

Severus scowled. "Potter, sit."

Potter rounded on him, shoes still clasped in one hand. "What do you think this is, Snape? I'm not a frightened little kid anymore, remember? I've _killed_ a man; compared to him, you don't even raise my blood pressure. You can give all the detentions you want, take points until Gryffindor is so far behind it'll take a _decade_ to earn them back, but I'm not just going to magically bear my soul for you to spit on all because you demanded it!"

He turned to leave again and Severus followed closely. "Potter, that is enough! You aren't leaving here until you tell me what is wrong, if I have to force Veritaserum down your throat!" He grabbed a too-thin wrist. "You are _waifishly_ thin and practically dead on your feet! I'm concerned about your _health_ , you idiot boy!"

Potter rounded on him again. "Why the hell should you care now, when you _never_ have before?!" He demanded, wrenching his arm from Severus' grasp.

The Potions Master didn't answer, only glared back into the dangerous green gaze. "You have to tell _someone_ ," He said, softening his tone. "I promise, whatever you tell me now will not be told to anyone beyond the Headmaster, and I will only tell him what I deem important."

The Wizarding Savior continued to glare at him for a long moment in a battle of wills. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back slightly. "Fine."

"What?"

"I said 'fine'," Potter spat. "Who knows, maybe you'll actually listen, unlike my so-called friends."

Severus straightened to his full height and gestured to the couch. The young man stomped over, still defiant, and sat down on the edge of the nearest cushion, setting his shoes down. "I was told your friends don't know _what_ is going on with you."

Potter scoffed. "They _know_ ," He said. "They just don't _understand_ , so they assume that it's got to be something else."

Severus moved over and sat on the couch. Not terribly close, but near-enough to the tensed younger wizard to be able to reach out a hand should he try to leave again. "So, what is it?"

"Nightmares," Potter said shortly. "Stupid, ordinary nightmares that _no one_ should have to carry around in their head."

Severus scowled, and when green eyes glanced at him, the Gryffindor sighed.

"Fine," He said again. He ran his hands over his face. "I'm dead on my feet because I can't sleep for fear of what I'll see when I close my eyes. I can't sleep because every time I do, I dream about the _life_ that I took. I can't eat because every waking moment I'm being hounded by hero-worshippers praising me for being a murderer, and it makes me _sick_. And I've lost the desire to try, knowing that none of this will ever go away, that I'll never escape the reality of what I've done. I will never be free of the burden of the murder I committed while the world cheered me on."

Severus stared at his student aghast. Even if he'd expected total honesty, which he hadn't, he could never have guessed what was weighing so heavily on the 7th Year's soul. He had _been_ there, taking Death Eaters out from the shadows, when Potter had lost his beloved dogfather to the veil. He had _seen_ the final battle, as Potter's recklessness endangered the lives of him and his friends; he'd seen Potter try to cast the Unforgivable on Bellatrix, had witnessed the courageous Gryffindor step between Albus and Voldemort, ending the Dark Lord's life with a blast of semi-accidental magic when his shield had exploded, rather than shattered, under the pressure of a powerful Killing Curse that, wonder among wonders, had _rebounded_ at the Dark wizard that had cast it. How could Potter feel _guilt_ for defending, not only himself, but all of Wizarding Britain? And why had it taken over a year for the guilt to start eating at him like this?

Carefully, Severus reached out a hand and placed it on a tense shoulder. "Potter-"

"Don't," Potter said, resignation in his tone. He shrugged off Severus' hand and stood, turning away. "I killed a man, okay? It doesn't matter what he was, or what he'd done, nothing changes the fact that at his core he was still just a man. Nothing can make what _I've_ done alright."

Severus stood as well, in case the young man tried to make a break for it, shoes or no shoes. "Potter, the Dark Lord-"

"Tom."

The interruption was so soft that Severus almost missed it. "What?" He prayed that Albus hadn't.

Potter sighed, wrapping his arms around himself as if he were cold. "His _name_ was Tom Marvolo Riddle, okay? I sort of knew that already, because of the diary in my 2nd Year, but…I never really connected the dots between the memory of Tom and the bastard trying to kill me. In my head, they were two different people. Then, last year, Dumbledore started showing me memories of Riddle during our private 'lessons'. I don't really understand what he was hoping to accomplish, though I could guess that he was trying to show me that Tom had always been moving in the direction of evil, but that's not what I took from it. " He turned to face the Potions Master, green eyes evasive. "He was an orphan, just like me, and he could have been helped. It wasn't fair! He was robbed of his childhood by the cruel Muggle orphanage he'd been stuck in, and instead of nurturing whatever _good_ was inside of him, the Wizarding World just left him there each Summer to _rot_!"

Severus found himself unable to respond. This was guilt, sure, but there was a deeper issue underlying it…fear. He stepped towards the broken 17 year old. "Potter, you are _nothing_ like Tom Riddle."

For a moment, Severus thought he had guessed wrong at the underlying tension in Potter's words, but then thin shoulders slumped.

"What makes me so different?" Potter asked softly.

Severus sighed and gently guided the young man back to the couch, sitting next to him. "Well, for one, you're a wreck at Potions," He answered, trying to lighten the dark mood. He was heartened slightly when he received a soft chuckle. "But, there are a million other reasons, Potter. Not the least of which, the fact that you're this broken up about it. Yes, the Dark Lord was a student of Hogwarts once, too; but he _never_ felt remorse for his misdeeds."

Potter surprised him by leaning tiredly into his chest, still hugging his own arms to ward off an impossible cold. "I want to believe you, Snape, but my nightmares…every night, I dream of the horrible things I saw through his eyes in 5th Year, but I see myself doing them in his place. If I'm nothing like him, then why am I dreaming about inflicting so much pain and suffering?"

The Potions Master sighed as he wrapped a comforting arm around Potter's shoulders. This was going to be a long night, but he couldn't bring himself to mind. Most of his adult life he had been doing the thankless job of protecting his Snakes, but none of them had ever _needed_ him like Potter did now. He could still feel the old disgust and anger boiling beneath the surface; old habits die hard. However, for now, he would offer what little comfort he could. For now, this wasn't the son of James, nor even the son of Lily, this was a broken and battered teenager who needed _someone_ to tell him everything would be alright.


	4. Chapter 4

This time, when Harry woke, he knew immediately where he was and what had happened. He was still on Snape's couch, and they had talked well into the night. At first, Snape had spent a long time explaining about 'the Dark Lord', and what made Harry different, but they had eventually just devolved to talking about the war in general. Snape had, at one point very early this morning, begun talking about some of the things he'd witnessed and been forced to do as a spy. He'd asked if being an unwilling participant, under the threat of death if he disobeyed, was the same as the Death Eaters who'd volunteered. They had both been feeling very raw and vulnerable by that point, and very tired, so Harry had answered with a thoughtless kiss in gratitude.

To Snape's credit, he hadn't jerked away, or ordered Harry from his rooms. Rather, he'd stiffened remarkably and explained that, while he was flattered, that sort of relationship would never happen between them. For Harry's part, he'd laughed at the awkward response and explained that he didn't really know why he'd done it, but had no desire for anything of that sort to happen again. He was actually pretty sure he'd done it because he'd never learned how to express the level of gratitude he'd felt in that moment when Snape had proven that, finally, someone understood. As far as Harry was concerned, though, the small contact had meant nothing; it had been awkward, and more than a little ridiculous, and he prayed he never did something that impulsive again. He could admit, if only to himself, that the man had changed in his eyes last night, but it didn't alter, or erase, the last six years of verbal torture, and certainly didn't make him kissable.

"Albus, I haven't done anything I didn't deem necessary."

Harry realized Snape must be on a fire-call with the Headmaster. A small part of him wondered what had happened after he'd fallen asleep on the man's shoulder, and if he should be concerned that they'd been discovered in that position. He assumed not, or they'd have both been woken under much different circumstances. He sat up and began rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"He spent the night on my couch, Albus, you need not concern yourself…I realize I should never have brought him into my quarters, but if I hadn't I might never have discovered that he has some neurotic notion that he's becoming the next Dark Lord!"

Harry smirked. Snape had actually used the exact same words the night before. Without looking at the man kneeling on the other side of the low coffee table, Harry set about slipping his shoes onto his feet. A quick glance at Snape's clock told him that he'd missed breakfast and that classes started in ten minutes. So, he'd managed at least another three hours of unbroken sleep. Good-on, if he kept this up, he might start looking a little less like a boxer on his last legs.

"Albus, you can trust that I have done _nothing_ improprietous. I was up for more than half the night with the idiot boy and his foolish delusions!" Harry winced…there was the harsh Snape he was used to. "I do not _care_ what you tell his friends, Headmaster, they are not my problem! You asked that I glean what was afflicting your Golden Boy and I have done my duty. Perhaps, now that you know, you can keep him out of my hair altogether so that I can use my nights to _sleep_ , rather than pampering his worldview!"

The 'Golden Boy' in question stood from the couch once he'd done up his shoes. "You can tell my friends that I was in the Infirmary all night because I felt sick after my detention." He said neutrally. He smirked slightly with satisfaction when he saw Snape's back tense minutely. "It'll explain my absence, both last night and this morning. Madame Pomfrey has safeguarded me once already this term, so it's a ready-enough excuse."

Snape didn't turn or respond in any way. When he began relaying Harry's words through the fire, Harry realized he would get no apology and he turned to leave. He hadn't really expected one; as he'd thought before, one night didn't change six years of mutual loathing. There was a hook for robes beside one door to the right of the living space, and Harry went through it into the man's office. His dumb luck triumphed when he walked into the empty corridor beyond. Thank Merlin, the 7th Year Potions students hadn't begun gathering outside the classroom yet. Unfortunately, his luck didn't hold, and he very nearly ran bodily into Hermione and Dean on the stairs leading out of the dungeons.

"Harry!" Hermione squealed with relief, pulling him into a hug that he immediately pulled free of. "I was so worried when you didn't come back to the common room last night. I tried asking McGonagall, but she wouldn't say anything, only told me that you were safely within the castle. When you still weren't there this morning, I asked Dumbledore at breakfast and he only told me the same."

"I-I'm okay, 'Mione, really," Harry said uncomfortably. "I spent the night in the Hospital Wing, because I got a little sick after my detention with Snape. Madame Pomfrey said it was thanks to exhaustion, and gave me some Dreamless Sleep. It's basically a narcotic, though, so she had to keep me under observation."

Hermione rubbed his arm, and he moved uncomfortably away from the touch. "Well, I'm glad you're alright…and you do seem to have some of your old color back," She commented, studying him with sad eyes. "Is it still those crazy dreams?"

Harry nodded, but before he could respond aloud, Dean interrupted them. "Hang on, Harry. If you were in the Infirmary, why were you coming from the dungeons? You aren't in NEWT Potions, and if you were you'd be going the other way."

The Wizarding Savior shrugged. "No, uh, Madame Pomfrey sent me down here for a potion. I was just headed back up to Gryffindor to change, and finish my homework, since this is my free period."

For a breathless moment, it seemed as though his friends wouldn't believe him, but they both shrugged and nodded.

"Makes sense," Dean said, grinning. "Snape's a bear in the mornings, isn't he? I hate having our class so early."

Harry resisted the urge to shoot a sour look over his shoulder at the dungeons below. "He always seems like a complete and utter git to me, so I didn't really notice a difference," He said indifferently. "Makes me glad I flunked out of NEWT Potions."

Hermione scowled. "You didn't _flunk_ , Harry, Professor Snape just has his standards set too high. Any other teacher would have taken you. Have you thought any yet about what you're going to do, since you can't be an Auror? I know that this summer you still weren't sure."

"I still might be," Harry argued. "Ron and I found a clause in the bi-laws this last weekend. At the end of the year, we're supposed to sign a list of the NEWTs we're going to take. If I do enough independent study between now and May I can take the Potions NEWT same as you guys. I just have to get it approved by Professor McGonagall. Ron doesn't want to, afraid he'll blow himself up without supervision, but I've been really considering it. I just need someone to help me cram two years of study into the next eight months of weekends."

"I could help!" Hermione offered immediately, brightening. "I've still got my curriculum from last year, and we could even ask Snape if we can use the Potions lab on the weekends. It's supposed to be open to students, anyway, but if he says 'no' we can use the Room of Requirement."

Harry grinned, suddenly feeling much better. "That'd be great, Hermione, thanks." He glanced at his watch. "You two better go, the bell is going to ring soon and you don't want to be late. I'll see you in Transfiguration, and maybe after we can ask McGonagall about getting permission for me to study Potions independently."

Hermione agreed, and the threesome parted ways. Harry headed back to Gryffindor, his mood considerably brighter than it had been when he'd left Snape's quarters. First, he'd managed _real_ sleep for the first time in months, then he'd managed to lie to his friends flawlessly, and now he'd gotten the assistance of the Head Girl in his pursuit of Potions, something he'd thought she'd need convincing for. Somehow, in spite of the man's hateful words that morning, Harry found his anger at Snape dissipating. He couldn't help that the man despised him any more than he could help that he despised the man in return. The war had proven that Snape was a good man, no matter what Ron said, and after last night Harry felt vindicated in believing it.


	5. Chapter 5

Severus was in a foul mood. Never since he'd become a spy for the Light had he felt the need to apologize to _anyone_. It had been the rule that had saved his sanity: _never_ apologize, _never_ regret. Yet, somehow, after just one semi-amiable night spent in discussion, he'd felt the need to apologize to the thrice-damned Potter brat. The foolish Gryffindor had given Severus the fragile gift of his trust last night, and in return he had done what he always did: screwed up.

He couldn't help but think of Potter's kiss, when he thought of the young man. It had been sloppy, and useless, and he had no reason to doubt Potter's assertion that it had been just as unintentional and meaningless. But it was still a show of faith. Severus more than half-wondered if the kiss hadn't been one of relief as much as of gratitude, since the young man had finally found someone who understood his plight. Severus even felt he had responded appropriately, despite his desire to jump around like a school boy who'd thought he'd caught cooties. Potter's reassurance that it had been thoughtless had only reaffirmed his first assumption: It had been done out of trust, out of gratitude…And he had most efficiently defenestrated those sentiments with his careless words this morning.

The thing that had him so upset was that he didn't know why he cared. He could only hope that it was a temporary insanity due to a lack of sleep.

After lunch, Severus was once again grading, now in his office. Minerva had told him during the meal of Potter's hopes, and Granger's help, and what they hoped to gain from him. Despite his confounding emotions, Severus planned to deny them. He had no interest in playing a role in Granger's manipulations (for why else would Potter want to continue Potions if she hadn't forced the subject?). The expected knock came at the door, and he bade them 'enter'. Part of him wanted to tell the nosy bookworm 'no' before she began, but part of him relished the idea of watching her flounder through an excuse.

"What do you want?" He growled as the two Gryffindors came in and closed the door.

To their credit, neither student flinched, nor paused, as they approached his desk.

"Sir, we were wondering if we could make an official request, if you've got the time," Potter said diplomatically.

Severus had to smother a thankfully small urge to wince at the cold tone. What the hell had gotten into him?

"Potter, I am very busy, get to the point. I haven't got time to waste on your childish ramblings." Severus considered that momentary lapse of sanity well-smothered.

"We were wondering, Professor-" Granger stopped, and Severus glanced up to see Potter had put a hand on her arm. So Granger _was_ leading this little excursion.

"It's not that important," The young man said. "We're sorry we interrupted you. We can come back later."

Severus rubbed at his eyes tiredly. He should really be wearing his reading glasses. He looked up as Potter turned, dragging Granger with him. " _Now_ , will be fine, Potter," Severus said curtly. "Just make it quick.

Potter turned and Severus saw that he was holding a large, blue tome…the school bi-laws. "Of course, Sir." Damn. The Gryffindor walked back to the desk and set his heavy book on the edge. "We were wondering…I would like permission to use the Potions Lab on the weekends. I wasn't good enough to be in your class, and I can understand that, but I don't think that not meeting up to your standards should stop my studies. I would like to take the Potions NEWT at the end of term, and I feel that if I start studying now, I might have a fighting chance."

Severus furrowed his brow. "I can't allow you to study Potions without supervision." What was Potter playing at?

"I can understand that," Potter answered immediately. "However, Hermione _is_ the Head Girl, and she has agreed to supervise and assist me. I've found a number of bi-laws that allow a Prefect or Head Student to substitute for a teacher in extenuating situations, including one such as mine. It's not the same as having a real Potions Master try and teach me, but I feel that we can achieve at least marginal success."

"Potter…" Severus found he wasn't as sure about denying the request. Flattery, no matter how subtle, got you everywhere in this world. "Are you only doing this in the hopes of joining the Auror Corps? I won't support such a single-minded effort. Potions requires your full attention, they are not to be learned on a whim."

Potter hesitated. Green eyes looked away nervously. "Actually…no. I-"

"Harry! Don't lie!" Granger interrupted.

The Wizarding Savior flinched, and Severus suddenly understood the nervousness. "I-I'm not, 'Mione." He half turned to her. "I'm sorry, I should have told you before I enlisted your help. The fact is, I _don't_ want to be an Auror, it's sort of become my backup career. After what happened in the Ministry, I don't think I can spend the rest of my life watching people get hurt, and I don't want to have to hurt someone else just because my superiors say I have to. I'm not the same person I was in 5th Year, and I don't actually know what I want to do with my life, yet." Granger was fuming, but Potter only sighed and turned back to Severus, impossibly green eyes narrowed with determination. "ButI _do_ know that I want to study Potions, Professor, even if it's only from a book. I'll never be a Master, I'm probably not good enough to even be an apprentice, but I still think Potions is a beautiful art, and a useful one. I already spent the whole summer reading my old Potions texts-"

" _That's_ what you were doing all summer?!" Granger demanded crossly.

"I told you I was studying," Potter excused. "Anyway, after reading through the theory, I think I finally understand the intricacies that I didn't see before. I know, now, why it's disastrous to use a crystal rod when the instructions call for a wooden one, or why the ingredients interact differently based on the heat of my cauldron. I'll never have the true understanding you have, but I think if I was given the opportunity I could really come to enjoy Potions, both as an art and as a science. And, since I'm being so ridiculously honest, Professor Snape, that's really what I'm asking for; not _just_ a chance to pass my NEWT, but the chance to love Potions the way I think you do. If it was just about following the instructions in the book, I wouldn't bother with the NEWT, because I already know I can do that well enough."

"I see," Severus hesitated. Potter had never been able to lie to him before, and he wasn't now. He still wasn't clear on what had gotten Potter to look twice at Potions, nor what had led to this sudden expulsion of information, but it was clear the brat was serious about his desire to pursue the study. "Fine," He said at last. "I will give you your chance."

Potter gave a half-smile.

"There are conditions," Severus said.

The smile didn't fade or falter. "Of course."

"You may have use of the Potions Lab every Saturday and Sunday immediately following lunch to study the 6th Year potions," Severus started. He steepled his fingers. "I will be present, and monitor your progress. Where necessary, I will offer my own guidance. Along with these sessions, you will be required to hand in at least six inches, the subject of which I will give you each Sunday, to be turned in each Saturday. I will grade these essays to gauge your progress and willingness to perform."

"But that's not fair!" Granger balked. "These are volun-" A hand on her mouth muffled her speech. She shoved it away, but fell silent.

Severus smirked at the girl before turning his gaze back to Potter. "Your grades in your regular classes cannot slip below an A average, though I would prefer you maintain an E. If your grades slip too far, your privileges will be rescinded. The same holds true if you receive more than three detentions before Christmas. However, in the unlikely circumstance that you can successfully hold to my rules, I will review your work over the Holiday and decide then if you have advanced far enough to join your fellow 7th Years in my NEWT course."

Potter gaped in disbelief before he gathered himself and glared suspiciously. "Why would you offer me that?"

"I can retract the offer, if you prefer. It is no more than I would offer any other student who wished to pursue my course," Severus lied smoothly. He'd actually never had a student make such a request of him, none were brave enough, and he doubted it was likely to happen again, even if Potter _did_ get into his class by some miracle.

The Wizarding Savior glared suspiciously for a moment longer, and for once Severus didn't shutter his sincerity. Finally, the young man nodded. "Okay, you've got a deal."

"Harry!" Granger said in disbelief. "That's an awful lot of work! You're barely maintaining an A in History of Magic as it is!"

Potter shrugged. "Decision's been made, and I'll deal with the consequences. Thank you, Professor, for your assistance. We'll leave you to your grading."

Severus grunted noncommittally, picking up his quill. "I will inform you by this evening of the essay you will turn in this Saturday."

Again, it was Granger who argued. "But it's Wednesday!"

Potter grabbed the girl and started guiding her towards the door. "It's only six inches," Potter told her. "I can get it done during my free period tomorrow."

Severus smirked as the girl looked affronted, then sighed as they closed the door behind them. What the hell had he been thinking? He hadn't been, obviously, otherwise he'd never have _offered_ to spend _more_ time with Potter. Still, it felt kind of nice to have someone, even someone he didn't like on principle, show an interest in his subject. Seventeen years as a professor, and Potter had made him feel vindicated in the decision to remain.

The Potions Master tried to return to his grading, but found he could no longer make out the words very well. His eyes were too tired, hell _he_ was too tired, to be able to focus. However, if he finished now he could retire immediately following dinner. With another sigh, he summoned his reading glasses. He'd take them off if another student came calling at his door.

 _Knock knock_

Severus scowled and pulled off the glasses he'd only just put on. "Enter!"

And so Potter did, closing the door behind him on reflex. "Sorry, forgot my book."

Severus growled and nudged the offending thing with his finger. "Take it and get out."

The Gryffindor came up to the desk and picked it up. He hesitated, then spoke. "I really do appreciate your offer to help," He said softly. "And I'm sorry about last night. I can't imagine how tired you must be."

Severus found this softness, this…kindness, unsettling. "Very well. Your apology is accepted," He said, just as soft.

"It-it makes me even more grateful," Potter continued. "We…we don't have the _best_ working relationship, you know?"

Severus was struck by the fact that he'd had almost the exact same thought the night before.

"I've never really liked you, and you don't like me, maybe even hate me-"

"Potter, I don't-"

"It's okay," Potter interrupted. "You're _allowed_ to hate me, I think. My father was a prat, my godfather almost more so, and I'm not any better, really. I've treated you with suspicion and disdain almost from the moment I arrived, same as you have me, so it's fair play. But that's what made last night so important to me. You reached me when no one else could, and actually understood what I've been going through lately, in spite of how we feel about each other."

Severus sighed and set his glasses on his desk irritably. Why did he have to do this when he was _tired_? "I don't hate you, Potter, though you're right that I did. Yes, you've been suspicious of me in the past, but so have hundreds of students before you, and I've never given you or anyone else a reason not to be. I'm still not sure I like you, but you've proven time and again that you are not the carbon copy of your father that I always accused you of being."

Potter actually chuckled. "That's good…I'm still not sure I like you, either. But, thanks, for saying that about my dad. I used to think he was a hero until I saw your memory. Now I wish I was from better stock." He looked at his watch. "I should go, I have Charms."

He turned and went to the door. Severus, wanting to say _something_ , stopped him. "Potter," He called. The young man looked back at him. "Thank you…for not telling anyone."

Potter smirked. "Your secrets are safe with me, Professor." He glanced meaningfully at the spectacles lying atop Severus' grading, then left the office with his book in hand.


	6. Chapter 6

_Explain in six inches or more why the Sopophorous beans should be crushed with a silver dagger, rather than chopped using an ordinary cutting knife._

Harry had put off the essay until his free period after lunch on Friday. He had felt a little guilty about putting it off so long, but he'd spent most of Thursday in a bind with his Quidditch team. As it was, Snape still seemed impressed that he had managed nearly a full foot on the significance of the silver dagger, and why crushing was best used to extract the juices from the Sopophorous bean when all the texts said to chop. In matter of fact, it had taken actual physical research to discover the purpose of the essay. By the time he'd done, Harry was convinced that the author of the 6th Year Potions text was an unimaginative moron.

This experimenting had given him the added benefit of leaving him with an entire phial of bean juice for his Saturday 'lesson'. Unfortunately, Hermione did not see it this way, and forbade him from using it. Instead, he had to prepare 'fresh' beans. As soon as he began, she stopped him.

"Harry, if you aren't going to take this seriously, then I'm not going to help," She threatened. "Professor Snape is being nice enough to give us use of the lab, the least you could do is follow directions."

Harry looked up at the girl as he continued to crush the beans with the silver dagger from his potions kit. "But, Hermione, the book is _wrong_."

His friend looked as if she'd been slapped. "Harry James Potter, how dare you-"

"Why are you bickering when you should be working?"

Harry started, almost cutting his hand on the sharp dagger. Merlin, the man was as silent as the grave. When had he moved from his desk?

"Sorry, Professor, it won't happen again," He muttered. He continued crushing the beans, then spelled the juices that had pooled into a phial.

"You've been practicing, Potter," Snape said as he examined Harry's work.

Harry smothered the urge to grin. Somewhere deep down, there was First Year version of himself dancing giddily. It was the closest thing to a compliment that he'd ever gotten from the man, and it was the very thing he'd been aiming for in his first ever class. The moment was ruined when Hermione began arguing with the Potions Master.

"But, Professor Snape, the book clearly says that you're supposed to _chop_ the beans, not crush them," She pointed out, holding up the open text.

Harry looked up to see a dangerous scowl on Snape's face. "Miss Granger, you will find that not all of life's answers can be found in a book. Sometimes one's own imagination must be utilized…even one as colorless as yours."

Hermione made a small sound at the back of her throat as she turned back to the table, and Harry flinched. He was going to hear about that later. Hermione _hated_ when people insulted her imagination, even if it was true that she rarely exercised it. Wisely, he chose to say nothing, only took the book from her hands and continued with his brewing.

"Do you have any other recommendations for how to brew the potion, Professor?" Harry asked as his friend fumed silently beside him.

Snape smirked down at him. "I have one other. Let's see if you can discover it for yourself. What does the theory tell you?"

Harry furrowed his brow as he stirred his potion thoughtfully. He thought he might recall something on a single counter-clockwise stir affecting the potency of the ingredient it followed, but he couldn't remember if it was good or bad. He decided to risk it.

"I could give the potion a single counter-clockwise turn after adding the Sloth brain, but I don't remember if that increases or decreases the potency," He answered finally.

Snape's only response was to raise a challenging eyebrow. Okay, so no help there. But, at least he knew it wouldn't destroy the potion, otherwise Snape would almost certainly have said something. The Gryffindor battled internally. It was obvious the Potions Master wanted him to pass or fail on his own, which made sense, but that meant that if he failed, Snape wouldn't hesitated to grade him accordingly.

Sucking in a deep breath, Harry added the Sloth brain, lowered his heat like the book instructed, then used his stirring rod to twist the potion into a slow counter-clockwise rotation. Immediately, the potion darkened by an entire shade of purple. Frowning against the wave of disappointment over failing his first tutoring session, Harry added the Sopophorous bean juice and finished brewing the potion without looking up at the man still standing over his shoulder. When it was finished, the Draught of Living Death was a full shade darker green than it was supposed to be, almost black.

"I messed up, right?"

Snape still didn't answer. Instead, a long-fingered hand appeared over the cauldron and dropped a bright green leaf into the thin liquid. Harry watched with bated breath. For the longest moment, the leaf just sat atop it, then all at once it dissolved. The Gryffindor beamed at his friend, who was looking on with uncertainty.

"Not bad for a kid who barely maintained an A, right?"

Snape cleared his throat gently, drawing Harry's attention. "Potter, if you can tell me what the difference in the efficacy of the potion is, I will reward you with an O for today's efforts."

Harry frowned. How the hell was he supposed to know that? He looked back at the potion and thought about what had happened to the leaf. There wasn't anything in his texts, since the author didn't use this method. He could hazard a guess that the reason was that his method of juicing the beans left less pulp, and that the sloth brain was more potent, but knowing _why_ wasn't the question. He thought about this silently for a long moment. Hermione was glaring daggers at the tabletop, apparently upset about something, and Snape waited patiently while Harry thought it out.

"Well," The Wizarding Savior said slowly. " _If_ the effect translates, then…the leaf took a second to dissolve, instead of doing it right away like the book said. So, that means that, rather than activating immediately, there's a delayed response."

"Correct, Mister Potter, but that is only a part of the answer," Snape said curtly. "According to your book, the leaf should have dissolved slowly. Yours disintegrated completely all at once. Why?"

Harry frowned again. "Still assuming the effect translates, I guess it means that there is not only a delayed response, but that rather than getting nausea and dizziness as a precursor, the poison would simply knock it's victim out without warning."

Snape smirked and banished the potion. "Very well done, Mister Potter. You have earned your 'O'. Are you enjoying it as much as you had hoped?"

Harry grinned as he set about cleaning up is work station. "Well, it's kind of soon to tell, but…yeah. It's not just a sense of accomplishment for finally having gotten it right, either. I really did enjoy having to work through the problem, and discovering for myself new ways to improve the potion. You're right, the book _didn't_ have all the answers. It was nice having to come up with them on my own," He admitted. "It felt almost as good as mastering a particularly difficult spell or maneuver in Defense."

"Indeed."

Harry stopped when he realized that the comparison might seem like an insult. He looked up at the Potions Master. "That's not to say Potions aren't fantastic," He amended. "I really _did_ enjoy the experience. But, Defense will always come first for me. It's the first thing I was ever good at, and the one thing I'm really _best_ at."

Snape smirked. "Understandable, Mister Potter. It is a widely accepted fact that the most successful witches and wizards achieve an aptitude with one form of magic over another. It's fine to be good at everything, but it's great to truly excel at one or two things."

This was the last straw for Hermione, and Harry flinched as she stormed past them and out of the room. Man, even when Snape wasn't trying to be a bastard he wound up insulting someone. It didn't make him a bad person…it just meant he was a bit abrupt. Harry actually thought it was sort of refreshing, since most people generally pussy-footed around a subject for fear of insulting someone. As Harry finished putting away most of his unused ingredients and cast a cleaning charm on his desk, Snape picked up his extra bottle of Sopophorous bean.

"What's this?"

Harry shrugged, putting the rest of his ingredients away in his potions kit. "That's from when I was practicing. Hermione said I couldn't use it, something about 'cheating'."

Snape hummed thoughtfully. "It would not have been. Most potion ingredients have a short shelf-life, which is why you must prepare them while you brew, but there is no harm in being prepared where you can. Sopophorous essence is one of few ingredients that have no shelf-life at all, as it never spoils."

Harry shrugged again. "Good to know. You can have it, if you like. I can't imagine when I'll ever need it again, since there aren't any other potions in the Sixth Year curriculum that require it."

The phial immediately disappeared into the black robes. "Much appreciated, Mister Potter. I have a number of uses for such an ingredient, particularly in reference to restocking the Hospital Wing."

The Gryffindor smirked as he picked up his bag. "Good news for me, then, since I'm in there about once a year," Snape shared his smirk and Harry grinned. "Goodbye, Professor. And thanks again for your help."

"Potter, stop."

Harry froze midway down the aisle. Damn, he knew there'd be a caveat; he just hadn't expected it to come so soon. "Yes, Sir?" He asked innocently, turning.

"How are the nightmares?"

He hadn't expected that, and for a moment he didn't know how to respond. "Um, better, I guess?" He said hesitantly.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Do not lie to me, Mister Potter."

Harry gave a nervous laugh. "Alright, um…" He sat heavily on a nearby stool. "They aren't really better, I guess…but I'm not reacting to them the same way since we talked, either. I'm still blaming myself, and seeing myself as a monster when I close my eyes, but when I wake up I don't feel as sick. It's the other dreams that keep kicking me in the teeth, sleep-wise. After you made me realize that it wasn't _me_ committing all those atrocities I saw through Voldemort's eyes, it's easier to acknowledge as much when I wake up in a cold sweat. But some nights, I don't just dream about me in Voldemort's place, some nights I dream about him in mine."

Snape moved over and sat on a stool across the aisle from him. "Explain."

"Oh, um…" Harry thought about this. Snape had already made it clear that talking helped, so why was he having so much trouble doing so? A small part of him wondered if it wasn't because he was afraid Snape would use this against him. He took a deep breath. Snape had already proven he was trustworthy, and even if Harry was still on the fence about his personal feelings for the man, it was good enough to be able to tell him the truth. "The truth is, Professor, sometimes I dream about a normal day here at Hogwarts. But, in the dream, everyone keeps calling me Tom, not Harry. Inevitably, I'll wind up looking into a reflective surface and I'll see the face of Tom Riddle staring back. Not the Dark Lord, but the kid from the Headmaster's memories, the one from the diary. Those dreams are harder to deal with. It's not just that I'm seeing him as me, which still scares the hell out of me, but it's also because…that's the man I killed. I didn't just put an end to the Dark Lord, I killed the frightened, messed-up kid that was inside of him, a kid who only ever wanted someone to take care of him. It scares me because…No one knows what caused him to turn to Dark magic. Sure, he _might_ have been that way all along, but what if he wasn't? What if it was just a culmination of all the darkness he'd had to put up with practically since he was an infant? And then I wonder…what if I go Dark without realizing it? In Professor Dumbledore's memories, he started consciously asking questions about Dark things, but that was only in his Sixth and Seventh year, so what if his interest grew from a previous affinity?"

"Potter, you aren't going to go Dark," Snape said firmly.

This angered Harry. "How would you know?" He demanded. "I already have an interest in Dark magic. Sure, right now I tell myself it's because I have to know my enemy to properly defend against it, but what if I'm just kidding myself? What's to stop me crossing that line someday?"

"I won't let you," Snape answered calmly. It was so surreal, and so…believable, that Harry felt tears well-up behind his eyes. He blinked them away. "Do you still feel guilt over the Dark Lord's demise?"

"I-I don't know…" Harry answered honestly, looking away. "I guess I do. It's the same question, isn't it? If I could become Dark with just the right push, then what's to say _he_ couldn't have been helped, even after his second coming? I know logically that he had long ago left the Light side, but…I can't help but wonder if, by killing him, I didn't destroy what _could_ have been the most powerful Light wizard of our time."

"And what if you hadn't killed him?" Snape asked softly. "Yes, there are a million scenarios for what could have been done, but there are also the hard facts of what he _would_ have done if he'd continued to live. Maybe, over time, you or someone else could have turned him to the side of light, but what of your friends, the people you see as your family? They might all have been sacrificed in the crossfire."

"That's still a 'what-if', though," Harry argued.

"Then let me give you an absolute," The Potions Master said firmly. "We'd have both been killed if the Dark Lord had been allowed to live. I was a spy, and you are the Boy Who Lived. Even if, by some miracle, the Dark Lord had _eventually_ been turned, he still had followers, and many of them wouldn't have hesitated to kill the two people who were most involved in the war. _Maybe_ your friends could have escaped a drawn out war unscathed, _maybe_ the Dark Lord could have one day returned to the side of Light, if he was ever a part of it to begin with, though I seriously doubt it, but it wouldn't have stopped his followers. The majority were insane and psychotic, and we would both have been killed before the end came. I was a spy, and you were his number one enemy, greater even than the Headmaster. There was no other escape for either of us than his death or ours."

Harry stared at the floor morosely. "I'm sorry," He mumbled.

"Why?"

"Because you're right," Harry said, looking sadly up into the coal black eyes of his professor. "I never realized that it wasn't just my life on the line. I mean, I knew that other people were at _risk_ , but it never occurred to me that someone else could have been just as _assured_ of death as I was. You must think me so selfish."

"I don't think you're selfish, Potter, even if you _have_ got a bleeding heart." Harry couldn't help a small chuckle. "I told you before, the simple fact that you're this broken up about what you were forced to do says that you could never willfully harm someone else. You weren't given a choice, and you paid a terrible price: his life, and your innocence, for the lives of millions. No one can fault you for struggling to find some other alternative, even after the fact. It means you're human, and it tells me that you will never become the monster you fear."

Harry smiled sadly. "Thanks…that actually really helps." He stood from his stool, and Snape did as well.

"I'm glad I can offer my assistance in this matter," The Potions Master said diplomatically. He paused, and then… "If you find yourself weighed down by this guilt, or your fear, again, I want you to come to me. The road that you walk is perilous, and I'm willing to guide you when you start to feel lost. Not only because you are my student, but because this is a weight that should never have been put on your shoulders in the first place."

"I appreciate you saying so," Harry said. He looked away again, drew a deep breath, and when he looked back up, he was smiling, his pain and fears once more buried deep. It was easier, now, to bury them, and it helped that he'd had long practice. It was one of the few things he had learned, growing up with his abusive relatives, and it was one thing he never seemed to lose the need for. With a final farewell, Harry left the classroom, not missing the slightly bewildered look on Snape's face at his sudden change in attitude.


	7. Chapter 7

Severus did _not_ go storming up to the Headmaster's office as soon as Potter left. He wanted to, on Potter's behalf. He wanted to walk up to the Headmaster's office and demand answers about what the old wizard could _possibly_ have been thinking, making the Dark Lord _human_ in the eyes of the young man that had killed him. He wanted to shatter the eternal, infuriating twinkle in those impossible blue eyes when he explained in no uncertain terms that the man was solely responsible for adding even more weight to the burdened shoulders of the Wizarding World's hero.

But he didn't do this. Something else was bothering him. It would have been impossible to miss the way Potter had buried his fears and sadness before he left, the way he had walked out of the classroom as if nothing had happened. It scared the Potions Master. This was not a skill learned in a short time, especially not when it was so quickly and easily engaged as Potter had done. It was, of course, always possible that Potter had learned this talent from years of fighting the Dark Lord in the shadows of the school, and Severus was tempted to accept this explanation without question. But he couldn't allow his mind to rest so easy. The thought had occurred to him when he'd first learned of Potter's troubles, that Potter might have long been hiding his pain, perhaps even since he first arrived, and he puzzled over it again now. How long had he ignored the signs? How long had they been there for him to ignore? And, a worse thought, what _other_ signs might he have missed?

Unfortunately, there was nothing Severus could think to do. He could, of course, ask Potter about his suspicions, but they were only that, and he was not in the habit of doing things without being sure first. Not to mention, no matter how much trust the young man had put in him about his dreams, it was unlikely he would as quickly open up about his home life. There was still a world of dislike and distrust between them, and it would not be easily overcome. Especially if he was wrong about his suspicions…it could make things even worse between them.

With a sigh, Severus realized he could do nothing for the young man until he knew the truth. But he was unclear as to how to go about _discovering_ said truth. For now, he would observe Potter and think over the issue. It was always possible that he was wrong, that Potter really _had_ learned it since coming to the Wizarding World. Mortal terror was as good a teacher as anything, it could have easily taught the little boy Potter once was to feign cool in the face of overwhelming stress and strain. If Severus kept watch, he would probably see the mask slip. Unless the boy had been practicing since he was very young, there was no way he could keep his secrets so well-hidden for long. He had already proven that it _could_ slip, but it had taken extreme exhaustion for that to happen. He was hiding it now, had practically _said_ he was sleeping better since their discussion, but with the added stress of these new (and still slightly _unexpected_ ) Potions lessons, and the holiday coming at the end of the month that always spelled trouble, it would be difficult for _anyone_ to keep up that sort of pretense.

 _-Break-_

Halloween came and went (thankfully, without incident), and Potter showed no sign of breaking, no sign of even the slightest strain. He still spoke readily of his nightmares should Severus ask, but he now pretended almost flawlessly that there was nothing even slightly the matter otherwise. Severus still had his suspicions, but found he couldn't settle one way or the other on if they were correct. He was hounded daily in his observations by the one damning question: what if he was wrong? He remained in this purgatory of uncertainty until one night midway through November.

Severus was asleep in his bed, dreaming fitfully of Potter as a young child. At first, he would see the boy being knocked around (heart-wrenchingly, as Severus had never seen the boy's uncle, the abuser was Severus' own father, who had always been heavy-handed). But then the dream would change, and he would see Potter spoiled and beloved by the Petunia from Severus' own memory. After a few moments, he would recall the hatred Pet had held for all things magical in her jealousy, and the first dream would resume. Severus wavered like this in his dreams until the echo of a voice called angrily from his memory.

" _Why the hell should you care now, when you_ never _have before?!"_

The Potions Master started awake, that last word echoing in his mind like a curse. He couldn't let this rest. Standing from his bed, he made his way into his living quarters. Albus had loaned him his pensieve a few weeks back, saying that he looked as if he were burdened by something. He, of course, had been, but hadn't at the time known what to do with the stone bowl.

He drew the artifact out of his cupboard now. Setting it on the low coffee table in his living space, he began to draw line after line of silvery memory from his temple, dropping each into the stone basin. When he thought he had enough, he dipped his wand into the gaseous liquid, vanishing into his memories.

 _Potter as a First Year, rejoicing in his House placement and the revelry of his fellow Gryffindors, but unconsciously flinching away from anyone who drew too close._

 _Potter sitting in his first ever Potions class, carefully sitting away from his peers, huddled in upon himself even as he eagerly took notes about Severus' opening speech._

 _Potter on the Quidditch Pitch, celebrating his first victory and grimacing anytime someone pounded his back._

 _Potter in the Hospital Wing, unconscious after his bout with Quirrel and the Dark Lord, while Poppy laboriously changed him out of torn robes into starched hospital pajamas. He hadn't looked then, not caring about what attention was being paid to the pampered brat, but Severus looked now, and what he saw confirmed his suspicions. Riddled across the tan back and chest were pale scars, some almost as old as the boy was._

Severus continued on through the memories, hoping to see some change that said the abuse had ended when Potter had received his letter.

 _Second Year, Potter favoring his wrist as Severus berated him and his friend. A glimpse before the boy unconsciously covered it again with his robe: the distinct outline of finger-shaped bruises, approximately a month old. The fracture definitely wasn't caused by the Whomping Willow._

 _Third Year, he saw a barely glimpsed old bruise on the back of Potter's shoulder as he leaned over his cauldron in concentration. He still remains at a distance from even his friends, flinching away from their touch if they get too close._

 _Fourth Year, Potter looks haggard and half-starved as he appears at the Welcoming Feast and sits at a respectable distance from his fellow Gryffindors. The message is clear, not even spending half his summers with the Weasley clan has erased the abuse from his relatives._

Severus pulled free of his memories and replaced them in his head as he allowed his rage to boil beneath the surface. When the Pensieve was once more empty he returned to his bedroom and dressed deliberately. It was still early, not even the most dedicated students or professors would be awake for another hour. Despite this, Severus left his quarters with the borrowed stone basin in his hands. It was time he returned it to its owner, now that it had served its purpose.

With quick, sure steps, Severus glided up the Grand Staircase to the Seventh Floor. He made his way through the dim, torch-lit corridors. The sun was only just turning the dark sky grey when he came to a stop in front of the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's Office, and the quarters therein. He glared at the ferocious beast.

"Puking Pastille," He snarled. The stone monster leapt immediately out of his way, giving a low growl in response to his.

Severus ignored it in favor of getting onto the moving staircase beyond. He didn't bother riding the stairway up, it was too slow for his purposes. He walked up the steps, bringing him quickly to the door at the top. Without knocking, he pushed the door open. Sitting behind the desk was his long-time mentor, already busily working diligently on his duties as the Headmaster of a school. The old wizard looked up at the intrusion, and his face brightened upon seeing the Potions Master.

"Severus, what a pleasant-"

"How _dare_ you!" Severus snarled, interrupting him. He stalked up to the desk and slammed the pensieve onto the pages that sat innocently atop the furniture piece. A quill snapped under the weight of it. "How _dare_ you leave Potter to fend for himself against the abuse of his relatives! He was but a _child_ , Albus! His body is riddled with scars that look as though they date back even into his infancy, and there is evidence for any who would look close enough that the abuse did not end even upon his enrollment at this school! How could you do it? How could you leave your would-be Savior to the hands of those monsters?!" He demanded.

Albus frowned. "How do you know he has scars-"

"But your neglect of his well-being doesn't even end there!" Severus interrupted again. He wasn't nearly finished. "You showed him memories that turned the Dark Lord into a _human_ in Potter's eyes! Memories in which Potter saw his own abused background reflected! Because of _you_ and your 'well-meaning' foolishness, your _Savior_ is convinced that he is destined to become the thing he destroyed! What were you thinking, Albus?!"

The old wizard drew a deep breath as Severus heaved in anger across from him. When he spoke, his calm was unbroken. "Severus, I understand your concern, but I promise you that I only ever had Harry's best interests at heart. The blood protection-"

"Did not save him from his relatives!"

"Severus, you must calm down and let me speak," The Headmaster said firmly, his blue eyes narrowing in warning. The Potions Master pursed his thin lips angrily. "I understand your concern, but I have never had proof of Harry's abuse, and the boy refuses to talk about it. His friends know of it, to some extent, but I suspect he hides the full truth even from them. As for the memories, I had no idea what they would do to him. My hope was that I could show Harry that there was no saving Tom from himself, as I had begun to see the lines of guilt creasing his brow when he returned to the school last year. I couldn't have known that the memories would only increase his guilt, and add to it his fear of following that same path. I have explained this to him just this last week, and I am grateful that he has found someone to talk to about the issue. From what I understand, thanks to you he is no longer as plagued as he was when he returned in September."

"But what of his relatives?" Severus demanded. "Surely there is some punishment that can be levied against them! You wrote half of the charters protecting the Muggle-Born and raised, there has to be _something_ you can do! They cannot simply escape unscathed for the hell they put that boy through! If Wizarding Britain found out, there would be an outcry for the heads of those beasts for daring to lay a hand on the Boy Who Lived."

"I understand you're angry, Severus, and I agree that justice needs to be served," Albus said softly. "However there is nothing neither the Ministry nor I can do unless Harry comes forward about the abuse. But, as I said, he refuses to speak of it when asked. I'm sorry, Severus, my hands are tied."

Severus scowled and straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. "So there is nothing to be done." He said distastefully. He scowled further as the twinkle returned to the blue eyes, blasting full force.

"Yes, Severus, _my_ hands are tied," The Headmaster repeated. "I can see you're upset. I recommend you spend the weekend away from the castle."

"I have Potter's remedial Potions lesson this afternoon," Severus replied flatly. "I do not trust Granger to guide him appropriately without giving him the answers."

"Not a problem," Albus told him, waving him off. "It's been awhile since I've been in the role of professor, but I imagine it's like riding a broom. You never really forget how to do it. Go on, Severus. I don't want to see you anywhere near the castle until dinner tomorrow. Go…go do something I'd officially disapprove of, were I to know the details."

Severus smirked. He suddenly had an idea of exactly how to spend his weekend away. It was an activity he was quite skilled at, and one that would feed his dark side, which was gnashing at the end of its imaginary leash and begging for vengeance. It was, in fact, an activity that may very well take the entire weekend, and would absolutely be publicly denounced were the Headmaster to find out about it; an activity that the very same Headmaster was all-but encouraging him to pursue. His smirk grew vicious and he gave his mentor a stiff nod.

"As you wish, Headmaster. I shall return tomorrow evening, and I imagine I will feel all the better for it."

"That's m'boy," Albus said with a wink. "Have a little fun, Severus. I do believe you've more than earned the right."

Severus left the office and made his way back through the castle at an even faster pace than he had before. Rather than return to his dungeons, he crossed the Entrance Hall and made his way out onto the grounds. As he walked, he wandlessly transfigured his robes into a thick jacket, and pulled a black silk ribbon from the pocket of his trousers. It was habit to keep the thing for when he was working on school potions, but he tied his hair back now for an entirely different reason as he made for the gates of the school. He had to look respectable if he was going into Muggle England, his father had always 'warned' him that long-haired freaks had to look professional if they wanted to get anywhere in the world. As soon as the Potions Master passed beneath the arch of the gates, he vanished with a sharp 'pop', disapparating to Surrey, and a tiny neighborhood therein called Little Whinging.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry was studying in the common room, trying to finish his homework despite the raucous noise. It was the first of December, and already the skies had graced the grounds of the school with the season's first snow. This had led to many of the children going out to dance in the flurries, but also had much of the older years suffering from a terrible case of Cabin Fever. The normally boisterous students were even worse, feeling cooped up, and for whatever reason this meant that they had to engage in loud and disruptive behavior in the Common Room, despite having an entire castle at their disposal. Already, Harry had considered interrupting his friends in his dorm room, but had decided he didn't need privacy so bad as they did. It was a rare commodity, and they couldn't have a good snog in the Common Room, whereas Harry could theoretically do his homework anywhere. The Library wasn't an option, as he had come from there, where Malfoy had been pelting him with magically thrown wads of parchment.

"Harry!"

With a groan of frustration at this new interruption, the Wizarding Savior turned to his ginger friend, who was standing beside him. "What, Ron? I thought you and Hermione were 'busy'."

"There's a package for you on your bed," The taller boy explained. "And a letter in a Muggle envelope. It took four delivery owls to carry it."

Harry raised an eyebrow doubtfully. "A _Muggle_ envelope? Is it from your parents?"

The boy shook his head. "Nope, it's got Muggle postage from Surrey, the box and the letter both."

Forgetting his homework for the time being, Harry shot from his chair and cut a swath through the crowded Common Room to the stairs of his dorm. He took the stairs two at a time, his friend behind him, and opened the door to his dorm to see a box almost half the size of his bed sitting atop his comforter. A letter sat innocently on the sealed flaps of the cardboard carton, and Harry could see even from the doorway that there was indeed Muggle postage on both.

Cautiously, he walked over to his bed, trying to decide if this were some elaborate hoax. But no, his relatives would never waste the postage, and they could only have sent the package via the Weasley's, who would never have allowed something malicious to pass to him. Another student, perhaps? But no, Harry's 'home' address was well-guarded amongst his friends, lest it be publicized. So what the hell was it?

Harry frowned as he picked up the letter. It was addressed in his uncle's writing. He quickly turned and transfigured a quill on Seamus nightstand into a letter opener. Slitting open the envelope, he pulled out a letter in his aunt's tidy cursive, with after-notes from his uncle and cousin.

 _Happy Christmas!_

 _This may well reach you before the Holiday, but we've no idea of wizard postage, so it may come after. Either way, don't worry yourself over waiting to open your gift-_

"What is it?!" Ron asked, peering over his shoulder.

"It's none of our business, Ronald!" Hermione hissed from his bed. She got up and grabbed her boyfriend. "Let's leave Harry alone."

"No," Harry said, looking to his friends pleadingly. "Please…stay. I don't know what this is, but it's freaking me out. I'd like the company."

Hermione looked at him sadly. "Okay…but we'll let you read your letter in peace," She said, elbowing Ron, who had readied to protest. "If you want to share after you've done reading it, you can."

Harry smiled gratefully. "Thanks." He turned back to the letter.

 _-don't worry yourself over waiting to open your gift. It's yours to open when you wish. Very recently, your uncle and I had our eyes opened to the pain we put you through during your stay with us. We want to apologize. You aren't a burden, we were lucky to have you. We should never have tried to beat the freak out of you, and understand now that you are a very powerful, very important person in your world._

 _We don't know much about your world, so we only bought you a few things that we thought you might need and I let myself be taken into your world for the rest. Luckily, that robe shop had your sizes, and Molly Weasley very kindly helped me to pick out everything else. Forgive me, Harry._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Petunia Dursley_

 _This should make up for the last sixteen years of missed birthdays and Christmases, boy, so don't come around here seeking any favors. We've done our part by you, so keep your freakiness well away from our house._

 _Vernon Dursley_

 _Hey, Freak, have a happy Christmas. Keep well away from me._

 _Dudley Dursley_

Harry sat heavily on his bed as he re-read the letter. This couldn't be real. It was their handwriting, but this wasn't his relatives. He knew enough about them to know that they hadn't been coerced into writing the letter itself, but _something_ had to have happened to them to inspire it in the first place. A near-death experience? They'd never cared enough about him…he could have blatantly saved their lives and they'd have bitched about how he did it. No, this letter was eerily reminiscent of the apology he'd gotten from Ron when Mrs. Weasley had made him apologize for calling him a wanker over the Summer. It was sincere…-ish.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione asked carefully.

The Gryffindor looked up from the letter and forced a smile. "Yeah, you bet. Just my relatives being stupid. Apparently they're apologizing for…the way they treated me."

"So what's in the box?" Ron asked curiously. Hermione cuffed him upside the head.

Harry smiled for real and shook his head. "Don't ever change, Ron." He looked at the box beside him and turned to it. "Only one way to find out. They said it was my Christmas present, and that it should 'make up for the last sixteen years of missed birthdays and Christmases'. They even got your mum to pick out some gifts."

"Well, go on," Ron cajoled anxiously.

Drawing a deep breath, Harry ripped the spell-o-tape off of the box and pulled open the flaps. He gaped at what he saw. The box was slightly deeper than it looked from the outside. To one side were stacks of brand new muggle clothing, and a few cloaks with varied thickness for the different seasons. On the other side was a mesh of items both Muggle and Wizarding. He pulled out the clothes first, stacking them on his bed. There were enough shirts and trousers to completely replace his wardrobe, even some pajamas, and they all looked brand new and fairly expensive. Next he started going through the other items. A new watch to replace the one he'd broken in Fourth Year, a leather wand holster for his arm, a few spell books for everyday and for fun, a brand new cauldron, new lace-up boots…and a stuffed lion that really roared.

"Why in the hell would they give me this?" Harry asked, pulling out the stuffed animal.

Ron snickered. "Mum probably did that. It's a tradition in our family. When you turn seventeen, you get to pick your own pet. You remember when Percy became prefect and he got an owl? It's the same thing, he only got his present early. Even I got to pick a new pet, which I gave up in favor of a new broom. Since you already have Hedwig, Mum must've gotten you this to remind you that you're as much a part of the family as I am."

Harry rolled his eyes and set the lion down. Beneath it was hiding a few more presents. Some books on Defense, which Harry had admitted over the summer was his passion (to no one's surprise), a new potions kit to go with his new cauldron, and his very own wizarding chess set. When everything was out of the box, Harry set it aside and looked over the gifts in awed silence. Where had all of this come from so suddenly?

"Wow, Harry," Ron said, giving a low whistle. "Your relatives must've spent a small fortune on you. These cloaks aren't Madame Malkin's work, these are from Gladrags, same as that wand holster."

Harry looked at his friend, who was fingering the finely made cloaks lying atop the piles of Muggle clothing. He didn't know what to say. He had long come to accept the abuse and neglect handed down by his relatives, even before he'd come to Hogwarts. Never in his life had he imagined they'd apologize, or try to make up for it. It didn't…nothing could really erase the way he'd been treated, the scars (both physical and emotional) were too deeply ingrained. But it did help him to feel like he could move beyond it now.

"What do you think caused this sudden change in attitude?" Hermione asked carefully.

"I don't know," Harry muttered. He looked to the girl. "Could I be alone now? I want to change and…process this."

Hermione smiled softly. "Sure, Harry," She murmured. Without looking, the young witch reached over and grabbed Ron's elbow, then began dragging him towards the exit. "We'll be in the Common Room if you need us. Ron still has to finish his homework, anyway."

The door closed on Ron's groan of protest. Harry sighed and stood up from the bed, looking at all of his new stuff. What was he supposed to do with it all? And how was he going to fit all of it into his trunk? Furrowing his brow in determination, he raised his hand and opened his palm, closing his eyes to better concentrate. He let his magic flow freely through him to his hand.

His private lessons with the Headmaster last year hadn't just been to view the man's memories of Tom Riddle. Dumbledore had also instructed him in the basics of wandless magic. After he'd managed to rebound the most unforgivable Unforgivable at Voldemort, Dumbledore had apparently decided to teach him how to use his raw magic. Most wizards thought that wandless magic was the same as using a wand, but in reality it required much more power for a reason. Yes, you could cast normal spells, and even an average wizard could manage the tame ones if they practiced, but _true_ wandless magic was different. It required a massive core to draw from, and relied almost purely on wishing. There were unbreakable laws that governed it, like any other magic (you couldn't simply wish someone out of existence or dead, for example) but mostly if you wanted it bad enough, it was yours. It was why accidental magic in children often presented in ways that mimicked multiple spells at once, or no spells at all.

When Harry opened his eyes, his bed was cleared of his new things, except the lion, which sat by his pillows. Instead, he saw his old hand-me-downs from Dudley, and his battered cauldron that he'd had since First Year. At the end of his bed his trunk stood open, and inside he saw that everything was packed neatly away. Even his old things had been reorganized to make room. He couldn't stop a grin. This wasn't his first successful use of wandless magic, he'd mastered the basics last year, but it was the first time he'd ever done so much at once without tiring himself out. He reached into the newly organized trunk and withdrew a set of new clothes from the top. If he was getting rid of his old things, he might as well get rid of them all.

While he changed, Harry pondered over Hermione's question. What _had_ brought all of this on? What could possibly cause such a drastic change in the people who, until now, didn't care if he lived or died? They didn't suddenly love and appreciate him, Vernon's comments proved that, so what had opened their eyes?

"Nothing," Harry muttered to himself as he buttoned his new crimson shirt. "There isn't anything that would make them do this. Some _one_ had to have opened their eyes for them, but who?"


	9. Chapter 9

Severus was working on his next submission to the Potions Journal when Potter slammed in without knocking.

"What did you _do_?!" Potter demanded, slamming a folded page of Muggle paper onto the Potions Master's desk.

Severus looked up calmly and made a conscious choice not to take points for the flagrant disrespect in the young man's address. "I'm afraid you will need to be more specific, Mister Potter."

The Gryffindor scowled. "I just got a letter from my relatives apologizing for abusing me, and a box filled with enough gifts to make up for the last sixteen years. I know it was you!"

Severus raised an eyebrow curiously. He honestly didn't know how the Gryffindor could have figured out that he had brought these events about.

Potter straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. "Mrs. Weasley doesn't know enough about my past, Dumbledore wouldn't do anything to jeopardize his position at the school, and _you_ disappeared just last weekend. Not to mention, you're the only person I know who is threatening enough to frighten my relatives without fear of retaliation. What…did…you…do?"

Severus struggled with the desire to smirk, and lost the battle. He felt the corners of his lips twitch slightly upward. "I haven't done anything, Mister Potter. You could ask your relatives, and I'm sure _they_ would tell you that they came to this realization wholly on their own, after a little soul-searching." He wasn't sure how Potter would react to this blatant lie. He was prepared to turn the tables and use his position as the young man's professor to force him from his office without answers. It may cause a rift greater than any they had previously harbored, but he had never expected Potter to be _angry_ over his relatives' change of heart.

Rather than continue in his anger, Potter actually laughed, though he tried to stop it. "Soul-searching? That's the most ridiculous-" Another harsh laugh burst from his throat, and he stopped, bent over, as his lung struggled to draw air in-between chuckles. It took several moments for Potter to recover, and when he did, he stood up while wiping tears from his eyes. "Okay, never mind, just forget the 'how'. _Why_ did you do this? I never asked you, or anyone else for that matter, to step in."

The Potions Master seriously considered lying again, feigning total innocence, but decided that, while Potter never needed to know what he had done to those monsters, he deserved to know why.

"Because you should never have had to ask, in the first place," Severus explained softly. "You deserved better from them, not because you are the Boy Who Lived, but because you're their family."

Potter's laughter faded, leaving behind a soft smile. "Thank you. I don't approve of whatever it is you did to them. I never wanted them to be punished, in part because I never thought it would do any good, but I do appreciate that you made the effort. So, thank you."

Severus allowed a soft smile of his own to replace his smirk. "You're welcome, Mister Potter."

Their gazes each softened in a shared look that would later baffle Severus, before Potter turned, taking up his letter. As he moved to leave the Potions Master's office, residual chuckles shook his body. Severus heard the Gryffindor mutter as he pulled open the door.

"Soul-searching, what a concept."

Severus couldn't help his own small chuckle and returned his attention to his 'essay' for the Potions Journal. A stray thought, that Potter had looked fairly attractive in his new clothes, skittered across his mind, just out of reach of conscious thought.


	10. Chapter 10

Christmas Holiday was a little more than a week away. Harry felt pretty good as he and his friends reached Hogsmeade for their last visit before Break. He felt good about his classes, now that he didn't have Quidditch to distract him, and he'd begun getting real sleep lately. It wasn't anywhere near normal sleep, and his quitting Quidditch had led to the majority of Gryffindor being angry at him even months later, but he took this in stride. Better was better, even with a downside. Snape had spent a few of their talks after his remedial lessons beating that into his head.

"Harry?"

The Wizarding Savior looked over at his two friends, who were hanging on each other, as lovesick as ever. He frowned when he realized that they were both staring at him nervously.

"What's up?" He asked.

Hermione chewed her lip as Ron avoided meeting his eye.

"Harry, we have something to tell you," The witch said carefully. "We both…Ron and I are going home for Christmas. We-we're not staying at the castle this year."

Harry felt a sharp pain in his chest that smacked of betrayal. "You are?"

Hermione nodded. "I know you were looking forward to the three of us spending our last Christmas at Hogwarts together, but, well…My mum and dad are always sore when I don't come home, and Ron's brothers are coming home for the holiday, so he wants to be there to see them. Ginny's going, too."

The stab of betrayal struck Harry again and he looked away. It wasn't fair of him, feeling this way. They were their own people, and it wasn't like they'd made any definitive plan to stick together for the holiday. And it sort of made sense, in a way. If this year was anything like the last, _most_ of Hogwarts' students would be leaving. He already knew that the rest of the Gryffindor Seventh Years were going. Still, Harry couldn't help the betrayal he felt. He had nowhere to go for the holiday, no family with which to share it. Ron and Hermione were the closest things he had to real family, and they were choosing to be elsewhere.

With a sigh, Harry lifted his head and forced a genuine smile. He couldn't change their minds, and even if he could the sign-up sheet had already been passed around. There was no point in lingering on the issue. His friends stared at him dubiously.

"Okay," He said brightly. "I understand your reasons, and I appreciate you telling me ahead of time. What do you say to visiting Zonko's first? I need Ron's help picking out a Christmas present for Ginny. Something that will maybe get her talking to me again."

"You're really okay with this?" Ron asked incredulously.

"I really am," Harry lied smoothly. "Now come on, I want to get there before the other's buy out all the good jokes."

His friends smiled and together they headed towards the joke shop. With his friends' help, he found a number of gifts for different people. Unfortunately, by the time they left and headed to Honeydukes, Ron and Hermione's careful attention to him had begun to vanish in light of one another. When Harry tried and failed to get their opinion on what treats he should get for the coming holiday, he started to realize that he'd been utterly forgotten. He followed his lovesick friends for over an hour as they traversed the streets. Twice, he tried to engage them in conversation, only to be dismissed.

"I'm thinking of wearing my shorts on my head and declaring an undying love for Trelawney," Harry announced after his second attempt to get his friends' attention.

"That's nice, Harry," Ron mumbled, staring lovingly into his girlfriend's eyes.

Hermione didn't respond at all and Harry scowled as they started exchanging light pecks repeatedly. He hated when they did that, it made him want to shove their heads together and force them to actually kiss. It was actually kind of nauseating to watch. Betrayal stabbed at him again. Giving up on getting to spend any real time with his friends, who were too busy with each other to even notice him, the Wizarding Savior stopped.

"I'll catch up with you guys later, all right?"

Neither of them paid him the slightest mind.

"Guys!" Harry growled angrily.

Hermione jumped, looking at him as if just realizing he was there.

"What?"

"I _said_ I'd catch up with you later," Harry ground out.

Hermione blinked. "Oh, all right, if you're sure."

Harry rolled his eyes as his friends returned to staring at each other adoringly. He stifled a gag as Ron cooed at the intelligent witch, who giggled obnoxiously. It still amazed him that the smartest witch of their year could be reduced to little more than a giggling ball of goo just because the redhead looked at her the right way. Turning as his friends continued on without him, Harry moved back down the street towards The Three Broomsticks.


	11. Chapter 11

Severus walked into The Three Broomsticks and grimaced. The noise from the students was overwhelming, but the alternative was the Hog's Head, which was hardly an alternative at all. His presence in Hogsmeade was meant to deter misbehavior, and he couldn't very well do that from a place students generally didn't go. Aside from this, Aberforth brewed terrible tea.

Rosmerta caught his eye as she bustled amongst the tables. Her gaze was questioning, and he gave a stiff nod, answering the unspoken question that he would indeed take his usual. There was no answer as to how, but the witch had a gift with tea that made it nearly addictive. Severus frowned when she gestured to his usual corner with an apologetic shrug. He looked to the darkest table within the tavern.

 _Potter_ was sitting at _his_ table, staring morosely at his half-empty mug of butterbeer as he twisted it in his hands. With a sigh, Severus gracefully maneuvered across the pub, weaving in and out of the boisterous students populating every other table with hardly a glance. He sat down across from the Gryffindor without hesitation, and received no acknowledgment. If it weren't for a slight furrowing of the younger wizard's brow, he'd have thought Potter hadn't noticed him at all. Severus waited patiently for the young man to say something, but when Rosmerta appeared with his tea and Potter had still yet to even glance up, he realized nothing was forthcoming.

"Speak." Severus commanded.

Potter looked up at him with a suspicious glare. Severus fought the urge to snarl in response, reminding himself that he'd earned every invisible dagger being thrown across the table. They weren't friends, and this was an open forum, a situation where they were generally as disdainful as they had ever been toward one another. He had to concede that he would be just as suspicious of his motives, if in Potter's place. Instead of snarling to hide the slight hurt he felt at encountering distrust after he'd thought they'd moved beyond it, he forced himself to meet the emerald stare.

"What about?" Potter asked eventually.

"Whatever it is that is clearly bothering you," Severus answered. "Is it still your nightmares?"

Potter visibly hesitated. "No…" he admitted slowly. The Gryffindor sighed, frowning, and sipped from his butterbeer. "It's just…normal, run-of-the-mill teenage angst, I suppose. It-it's my friends."

"Explain," Severus said gently.

Potter sighed again, sitting up in his chair and leaning slightly forward as he stared at the table. "Alright. It's nothing serious, I guess. They just…I found out they're leaving for Christmas. And so is practically everyone else in Gryffindor. They want to spend the holiday with their families and it sort of feels like I'm being abandoned. Christmas is a difficult time for me. I don't have a family to share it with. I mean, I understand _why_ they want to leave, it's the same reason I want them to stay, but knowing doesn't make it any easier. Especially since I feel like a third wheel now whenever we're together, ever since they started dating. I feel like I'm losing my friends, and most of Gryffindor is pissed at me because I quit the Quidditch team so I could focus on my classes. I…I feel like I don't have anyone."

"Your Head of House mentioned your departure from the team," Severus said. "I was surprised to hear of it, but I don't see why that should translate to, or affect, the rest of your House. Why shouldn't you be allowed to make your own choices in regards to your health and schooling?"

"Because we're teenagers," Potter said with a scoff. "They all expected me to bring home the Cup this year, especially since I graduate at the end of term. Last chance to steal a win from Slytherin before I'm gone. When I quit, the House basically decided I was betraying them and their hopes. Now it's me who feels betrayed, since hardly anyone is talking to me, and on top of that I'm being completely abandoned on Christmas. It's…it's kind of lonely being 'Harry Potter' right now."

Severus frowned and made a decision without any real conscious forethought. "It is fortunate, then, that you will not have time to linger on these feelings over the holiday." He said evenly. Potter looked up curiously. "I still have not decided on whether or not you are fit to enter my NEWT course, and planned to test you over the Break as soon as I learned of your staying." This was entirely a lie, but Severus felt he played it off well. In actuality, he had already petitioned the Headmaster to put Potter in the class in the second term and it had already been approved. Potter, however, would not know of this change to his timetable until after the holiday. Severus smirked a little maliciously to seal the lie. "Believe you me, Potter, you will not have _time_ to feel lonely. You are to report to my classroom every day of the Break immediately following lunch. And I do mean _every_ day."

Potter's mouth fell open and Severus watched with some small measure of sadistic pride as the younger wizard's throat worked angrily. No noise was forthcoming as yet, and he waited for the expected argument.


	12. Chapter 12

Harry gaped at the sadistic Potions Master sat across from him. School breaks were meant to be free to the students, but now he was being ordered into attending even more remedial lessons. He started to scowl, prepared to argue the unfairness, but a little voice in his mind stopped him. Snape…this wasn't malice, or even sadism. There was something Harry couldn't quite put his finger on, but he somehow _knew_ that Snape was lying. Sure, it looked and sounded no different than the man's usual ruthlessness, but something inside him _knew_ that it wasn't. But why would Snape suddenly lie about extra lessons? Because it was as close as he could come to inviting Harry to share in the holiday with him without doing so outright, that was why.

This realization startled the Gryffindor, that he had a sudden insight to Snape; that he suddenly knew what the man was thinking almost without hesitation. Some wall, buried deep in Harry's heart, crumbled under this realization. It felt sort of like a more intimate form of Legilimency. It felt like…well, it felt like the connection he used to share with Ron and Hermione before they'd grown apart. Instead of scowling, Harry grinned. He was actually _grateful_ to Snape, for the lie and for the hidden reasons behind it. He didn't want to spend Christmas alone, and it felt…promising…that Snape was willing to interrupt his own holiday so that he didn't have to.

Harry hid a chuckle when he saw surprise flash across onyx pools as Snape frowned in response to his grin.

"Thank you, Professor," He said honestly.

Snape continued to frown. "For what?" He growled.

Harry gave a slight shrug. "For being you, I suppose. Don't-don't ever change, okay?"

Snape paused for a moment, looking down at his tea and sipping at it delicately. When he looked back up, he was sporting a smirk that threatened to be a smile. Harry knew instinctually that the Potions Master had realized he'd been caught out, and that they both knew now that he was trying to hide behind propriety to conceal real kindness.

"I couldn't, even if the urge struck me, Mister Potter."

Harry allowed himself to chuckle lightly now, and sat up a little straighter.

"So, what areas do you think I still need work in? I know my stirring and chopping are still sloppy," He said engagingly.

The smirk widened slightly, threatening again to transform into a smile, and Snape leaned forward as well. They wound up discussing Potions until the tavern had begun to empty of the other students and it was time to return to the school. They left the pub together, and Harry had every intention of walking back with the man, but Snape pointed out Ron and Hermione as they passed on the other side of the street. Without saying a word, he encouraged Harry to engage them with a nudge to the small of his back. Harry, with a grin, thanked the Potions Master with his eyes and caught up to the two people he still thought himself closest to.


	13. Chapter 13

The fire in the grate burst to life as Severus entered his rooms. He immediately shucked his teaching robes, throwing them over the back of his wingback chair, before sinking onto his couch. After a moment, he kicked off his shoes and swung his feet up so he was lying across the expanse of the black furniture piece. He could no more have helped the small smile that graced his features than he could the large nose that sat above it.

Potter, he'd been surprised to discover, was _interesting._ He had a fascinating perspective on the adventures his life had thus far held, and he had an amazing ability to turn what should have been terrifying experiences into something humorous. The Gryffindor had come for what would be his last remedial lesson this afternoon, soaked to the bone after having missed lunch with a few of the younger Years. As soon as the lesson had ended, Severus had insisted on being told why Potter had been absent from the meal.

"I got trapped in a snowball fight with some of the younger kids," Potter had explained. "Snowball fights always remind me of meeting Voldemort in my First Year."

Severus had, of course, inquired as to _how_ something so carefree could be equated to a meeting with the Dark Lord that had almost killed him. Potter had chuckled and explained that, if Severus' recalled, Fred and George had gotten in trouble that year for spelling snowballs to bounce off the back of Quirrel's turban. And it was under Quirrel's turban that Voldemort had been hiding.

"I didn't realize it at the time, being scared as I was," Potter had said. "But when I was recovering later in the Infirmary, I remembered. The twins had unknowingly spelled snowballs to smack Voldemort in the face. I laughed so hard that Madame Pomfrey thought I was hysterical and forced me to take a calming potion."

The imagery Potter had presented, along with the young man's barely contained laughter, had surprised a chuckle out of Severus. They had then proceeded to sit together for over an hour in the classroom, as Potter regaled him with humorous twists on his deadly exploits throughout his First Year, including his meeting with the troll. Severus, who still felt mild anxiety each time he recalled what had nearly happened to Lily's son while he had been off after the Dark Lord in disguise, had been surprised to find himself laughing over the memory. By the time Potter had left, Severus had forgotten his anger, and his concern, towards the young man. He _still_ felt amazed at how swiftly Potter had made him feel good, and it was this that made him smile as he relaxed on his couch. It was the first time he had ever found someone who indulged in dark humor so similar to his own, and it was somewhat startling that this someone was the young man he had hated for more than seven years. Still, it was a nice sort of surprise.

With another sigh, Severus sat up on his couch again. He needed to get Potter out of his head. He still had marking to be done, which he had put off until now. The students would arrive tomorrow for the New Year, and classes resumed at the end of the weekend. Scrubbing his face, Severus' moved to stand, only to stop as he spotted a package resting on his low coffee table. With a frown, he picked up the nondescript brown parcel. It was addressed to him in Potter's messy scrawl.

Tearing off the brown paper and twine, Severus opened the package to find a note sitting atop a placard. He picked up the note, and thumbed open the fold.

 _Happy Christmas, Professor_

 _I know it's late, but I didn't realize that special ordering anything would take so long in the Wizarding World. Just think of this as a small token of appreciation for the attention you've paid to my schooling. I know I'm not the quickest learner, and it means a lot that you've taken the time to instruct me in Potions when you could have just dismissed me._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Harry Potter_

Severus frowned and looked inside the box. The placard was inset under the framed glass in two separate compartments. The first compartment on the left, deeper than second, had a potions phial suspended perpetually against a velvet backdrop. Severus immediately recognized the phial's contents as being a Draught of Living Death. In the second framed compartment was a silver placard with the very same words he repeated to every First Year class in their first ever Potions lesson.

Severus felt a small, heartening chuckle bubble in his throat as he pulled the personalized gift from its package. The potion within held special meaning between him and Potter, and he distantly wondered if that wasn't why the younger wizard had chosen it. In Potter's first class, it was this very potion that had been the answer to Severus' first unfair question following his speech. More recently, it was the first potion Potter had brewed in his remedial lessons.

Standing up, Severus put the box back on the table and carried the framed gift and note to the undecorated mantle above his fireplace. Carefully, he set the deep frame onto the wooden mantle, and settled the folded parchment beside it. With a final look of appreciation for the thoughtfulness of the Wizarding Savior, he turned towards his office. There was still marking to be done.

As he worked diligently through to dinner, Severus found his mind wandering every so often to the best gift he'd received for the holiday. More often, his thought strayed to the Gryffindor who had sent it. Each time his thoughts roamed, a small smile would twist the corners of his mouth, though he hardly noticed that.


	14. Chapter 14

As the Seventh Years shuffled out of the first Potions class after Christmas, Harry lagged behind slightly, trying to fit his Potions book into his bag. Dean stood, dancing in urgency beside him, but Harry just couldn't seem to get the book in. Hermione was waiting a few feet further down the hall. Finally, the book slid into place between his other texts. Harry looked up with a grin of triumph, and almost ran into Draco Malfoy. A glance around said that the others from the class had also paused in the torch-lit corridor, watching to see what would happen.

"Malfoy," Harry greeted warily.

"How'd you get into the class Potter?" Malfoy sneered. "You haven't got any parents to pull strings on your behalf, so what's your secret? Bat your long lashes at the professor and say please? Or did you just go whining to the Muggle-loving Headmaster that it just wasn't fair? Because there's no chance you got into the class on merit."

Harry scowled. "Leave off, Malfoy, I worked really hard to get into this class!"

"Yeah," Dean joined in angrily. "Harry _earned_ his spot."

Harry waved his friend off and turned to leave. There was no chance he was about to jeopardize his placement in NEWT Potions by getting into a fight right after his first class; especially not with any of the Potions Master's prized Slytherins. He'd known when he'd received his new timetable that morning that there would be some backlash over what might be viewed as special treatment, but he hadn't thought even Malfoy was thick enough to start something within earshot of the professor who'd given it. Harry only made it a few steps down the corridor when Malfoy spoke again.

"Earned it on your knees," The blonde muttered darkly.

Harry choked on a surprised laugh as he turned. "You're not seriously suggesting what I think you are," He challenged disbelievingly.

Malfoy shrugged. "It's not my business, Potter, who you whore yourself out to. I just think it's a little pathetic, that you-"

Harry didn't get a chance to hear what Malfoy thought was pathetic. Dean had launched from beside him, knocking their Slytherin rival to the dungeon flagstone. Harry gaped for a moment as the two wrestled across the corridor. When it became clear that one or both of them was bleeding, he leapt into the fray himself.

"Dean! Stop, he isn't worth it!"

Dean tried to push Harry off and clipped him in the eye with his elbow. Harry pulled back.

"Shit, what the hell, Dean?!"

Fed up, Harry jumped between the two warring Seventh Years and dragged them both to their feet. He stood between them, with a death-grip on both shoulders as much to keep them apart as to keep them there. There was no way Snape hadn't heard them by now.

"I said enough!"

The door to the classroom opened and Snape stood there imposingly.

"What is going on out here?" He sneered, black eyes taking in the scene quickly.

Harry studied the two opponents as well. Dean had several scratches, a tear in his robes, and hand-shaped bruises on his throat. Malfoy had a black eye, split lip, and the back of his blond head was pasted red from being slammed to the ground. No one spoke as Snape glared at them, and Harry glowered between the two boys he was holding at arm's length.

"Malfoy said something about me getting special treatment, and Dean attacked him," Harry explained. "Obviously, the fight wasn't entirely one-sided."

Snape frowned. "What happened to your eye?"

Harry glowered at his fellow Gryffindor, who looked down, ashamed. "I got clipped trying to pull them off each other."

Snape was silent for a moment. "20 points from Gryffindor…" He announced stoically. Malfoy smirked. " _And_ from Slytherin." Harry smirked as Malfoy looked to his Head of House in disbelief. "Detention for you both. I've warned you about fighting, Mister Malfoy. Both of you get yourselves to the Infirmary. Granger, I leave it to you to ensure they get there."

Hermione gave a stiff nod and glowered at the injured pair. The two boys glared bitterly at each other, but were smart enough to keep their mouths shut as they left. The crowd that had been egging them on dispersed under a glare from the Potions Master. Harry turned to go as well.

"Potter, come."

"I've got a class."

"I'll give you a note. Come."

Harry sighed and followed Snape into the classroom. "It's really not that bad," He said lightly. "I can get some bruise salve from Madame Pomfrey before dinner."

Snape grabbed one of the student stools as he passed the front-most desks and set it on the platform that held the teacher's desk.

"Potter, you're bleeding."

Harry frowned and reached up to touch his injured brow. He pulled his hand away with a hiss as he touched the broken skin. His fingers came away red.

"Oops."

Snape looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow. "Indeed. Sit." He commanded, gesturing to the stool he'd moved.

Harry rolled his eyes and moved to sit on the stool. Snape disappeared into the ingredient cupboard. When he came out again, he held a clean rag and a laceration salve in one hand. In the other he carried an old, beaten first-aid kit.

"This isn't necessary," Harry demurred. "I can just go to Madame Pomfrey."

"She will have her hands full with your classmates," Snape pointed out as he set his items on his desk beside Harry. He took the rag and turned to the Gryffindor. "Unless you'd prefer she keep you under observation for fear you'd concussed yourself?"

Harry groaned. "Fine…suppose it's better than listening to Malfoy complain about you taking points, anyway. I can't believe you did that."

"I have warned him in the past about pushing foolhardy Gryffindors too far. What did he say about you that enraged Mister Thomas?"

Harry shrugged, wincing as Snape dabbed at his wound, cleaning it of the freely flowing blood. "Said something about me getting special treatment from you in return for sexual favors. I was too busy laughing to realize Dean had taken the comment as a personal affront."

Snape grunted a laugh, smirking. "I will have to have a discussion with Mister Malfoy about implicating his fellow Slytherins when he insults someone."

Harry chuckled appreciatively and they devolved into silence. Snape finished cleaning the wound and grabbed the laceration balm. He leaned in obscenely close as he began to slowly rub the salve into the relatively long gash along Harry's brow. Harry had to force his eyes to uncross, staring at the large nose nearly touching his.

"Severus, I…" There was a surprised, disapproving gasp. "Severus!"

Harry smirked as Snape scowled at the intrusion.

"What, Minerva?!"

"Ow! That hurts!" Harry pulled back as Snape rubbed his wound especially hard.

Now Snape smirked as he glanced into Harry's green gaze. "Then I recommend you cease moving."

Harry glowered, but bit his tongue. He hadn't moved. The Potions Master continued to smirk as he pulled away and began rifling through his medicine kit.

"Potter, what happened?"

Harry looked at his Head of House coming up the center aisle of the room. "Fight," He answered simply. "I got caught in the crossfire between Malfoy and Dean when I tried to pull them off each other."

"Is this true, Severus?"

Snape didn't look at the witch as he stepped in front of Harry again with a butterfly bandage. "Potter pulled them apart. As per my orders, they should both be in the Hospital Wing."

"So it's true," McGonagall said, astonished. "You took points from your own House. I never thought I'd see the day."

"It is not nearly the miracle you're making it out to be, Minerva," Snape told her as he was placing the bandage over Harry's wound, gluing the two halves of the gash together. The Wizarding Savior couldn't help a snort that earned him a flick to his wound, followed by a casual caress of the fresh bandage. "I've finished, Mister Potter. In the future, I recommend you try to better control your friends."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like that's possible. Thanks, Professor, for your help." He jumped off the stool and picked up his bag. "See you in class, Professor McGonagall." With a wave for his Head of House, Harry left the Potions classroom.


	15. Chapter 15

Severus ignored the disapproving stare he was receiving from his colleague as he went about cleaning up the small litter on his desk and replacing his medicine kit in the cupboard. He knew why she was watching him so intently, despite her attempts to hide it. It would have been impossible to have missed the whispers in the Teacher's Lounge, or how several of his colleagues would fall silent whenever he walked into the room.

As far as he was aware, it was just supposition now, and not yet rumors, but it was clear his colleague's found his sudden amiability with Potter odd. If Severus had had to guess, he'd have said the whispers had begun after the night Potter had spent in his rooms. At the time, it had been harmless gossip over the strangeness of the circumstance, but after his invitation to tutor the Gryffindor, and the subsequent petition to put the Wizarding Savior in his course, the whispers had grown in frequency. Severus didn't doubt that the students' own whispers about his engaging Potter in conversation at the village had helped to fuel his colleague's imaginations. Still, as far as he knew, they weren't prepared to outright accuse him baselessly of impropriety.

"Was there something you needed, Minerva? I have another class, as I'm sure you do," Severus said, finally addressing the animagus.

Minerva pursed her lips. "What has gotten into you, Severus?"

"In reference to what?"

"You just took points from your own House!" The witch said accusingly. "I've worked with you twenty years and I'd never thought I'd see this day! You showed real concern for a student I'd have laid good money on you _hating_ , and you've become almost pleasant to be around in the last few weeks."

"You speak as though I've done some grossly horrendous act," Severus said, his tone light. "I would think you would find these new character traits satisfactory, in light of your own past attempts to encourage precisely what you are now complaining about."

Minerva's lips tightened further. "I'm not complaining, Severus, I am concerned. You know as well as any of us that the students are off-limits, no matter what their age, or how much consent is given. I'm asking you to be careful, Severus, as your friend."

"I have done nothing to warrant such an advisement," Severus said, still maintaining his infuriating calm. "I have never, and shall never, touch a student inappropriately. Your concern is misplaced."

"He was in your _apartments_ ," Minerva hissed, her face a mask of worry. "As his Head of House, I was informed of the developments in his psyche that you uncovered as a result, but you should have known better! People talk, Severus, and your continued involvement with Potter has become a favorite topic as of late."

"I've done nothing wrong!" Severus growled, finally losing the tenuous hold on his temper. His colleague, his friend, was dangerously close to laying an accusation she couldn't retract.

"Then explain!" Minerva retorted. "Explain what has happened to you!"

For the first time in months, Severus thought of Potter's thoughtless kiss. That had been the beginning, and he recalled it now without feeling the disgust he'd felt at the time. What _had_ happened to him? Minerva was right, that he had changed, and, without saying so, she was right that it had been Potter who'd brought it on. So, what was it that had so fundamentally changed his outlook? Severus was surprised to find a blossom of some unidentifiable good feeling in his chest when he thought of the time he'd spent with the younger wizard over the holiday. He was _un_ surprised to realize he wasn't yet prepared to analyze this overwhelming emotion, particularly not under duress and unspoken accusation. He scowled.

"I will explain nothing, as there is nothing to explain," The Potions Master snarled.

"But, Severus-!"

"He is my friend! Nothing more!" Severus shouted. He fought to hide his own surprise as Minerva gaped at him openly. When had Potter become his _friend_? "I have a class I need to finish preparing for, and you have caused enough of a disruption for one day. I presume you know where the door is."

Minerva straightened, her lips pursing so hard that they turned white. "Alright, Severus, I can see you aren't going to be swayed. I just ask you to be careful. The gossip is limited to us teachers for now, but tongues will wag. Be _careful_."

Severus' scowled deepened. "Please, leave, Minerva. I have had about all I can take of prying Gryffindors today."

With a final, hard glare, the Transfiguration Professor harrumphed and left the classroom. Severus sunk into the chair behind his desk, tenting his fingers. She was right, gossip could be dangerous. It was mostly harmless, as it circulated amongst the professors, but should the rumors reach, or begin anew, amongst the students, it could become a real threat. Still, the hard-hearted Severus couldn't bring himself to care. There was a stubborn streak buried within him, and that streak of crimson knew he had done nothing gossip-worthy. Let the tongues wag, it wouldn't prevent him enjoying the first real connection he'd felt with another human being since Lily's death.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry had to stop himself whistling as he walked back to Gryffindor Tower. When he'd woken this morning, he had been filled with such dread and terror that he would have scoffed at anyone who said he would ever feel otherwise ever again. Snape, however, had fundamentally adjusted his attitude of miserable fear, and he had done so with admirable acuity. Being quashed spectacularly at chess, Harry had discovered, served as an excellent distraction when your opponent talked and guided instead of boasting loudly with every move.

The morning had begun with a nightmare, or the terror of waking from one. It had still been an hour before most of the school would be awake, and slightly longer before breakfast would be waiting in the Great Hall. Harry had woken from an exhaustingly terrifying vision of himself voluntarily taking the Dark Mark and doing untold things to his relatives as a reward. Upon waking, drenched in a cold sweat, Harry had immediately thought of Snape in the dungeons. This had seemed odd, at first, since, in the past, his first thought had always been to worry if anyone had heard him in the throes of his nightmares.

After a few minutes of internal debate, Harry had dressed quietly in the burnished glow of winter's predawn light. As he'd dressed, he'd come to understand why Snape had consumed his first waking thoughts. He was…his friend…as hard as that was to believe. In the past, Harry had hidden behind walls of false cheer after his nightmares, in part because he knew of no one who could understand. Snape did, though. He not only understood, but he felt real empathy, rather than pity. As he'd snuck from Gryffindor Tower under his father's Invisibility Cloak, it had never occurred to the lonesome Wizarding Savior to question his destination. He never thought to question if Snape would even be up, let alone willing to deal with the son of his youthful bane so early. Somehow, he'd known he would be, both awake and welcoming.

And Snape had been. Harry had knocked on the Potions Master's office door just as dawn's first light caressed the skies above Hogwarts, and the door had opened almost immediately. Harry had stood there sheepishly, no longer as sure about spilling the dark turn of his dreams, of burdening the former spy with his problems. He had, until now, never willfully sought the man out, preferring instead to let Snape question him whenever they had a moment alone. Snape, though, had gestured him inside with one long-fingered hand, and had closed the door behind him. Harry had stood, huddled in on himself, for a moment that seemed to stretch on into eternity. When he'd finally gathered the courage to look up, it was to discover that Snape had silently conjured a small table and two armchairs off to the side of the room. When Harry had looked at the man questioningly, he'd received a kind smirk, the sort that might've been a smile on anyone else's face, as a House Elf appeared with tea and scones.

They had sat down together, still silent, and Harry had nervously picked at a scone on the plate in front of him. Snape seemed in no hurry to make him speak, but Harry had known that eventually he would, even without prodding. It was impossible not to _want_ to speak, when faced with such sympathetic silence. And, eventually, he had spoken. He'd described each horrendous detail of his dream, leaving nothing unsaid, not even the torture he'd put his relatives through.

Snape had listened, and when they had done with their light breakfast he had coached Harry as he had with every nightmare that came before. There had been no accusation of evil, either in his eyes or in his words, only a deep understanding. They had ultimately worked together to discover the source of the dream, and there had still been no accusations when Harry had admitted that, in his darkest moments in his summers trapped on Privet Drive, he had thought once or twice of switching sides, or just putting an end to his involvement entirely by running away or taking a long jump off a short pier. The Potions Master had understood this, too, and explained his own leanings toward premature self-sacrifice in the heat of the war. He had not called Harry selfish, or self-centered.

When conversation had died down, Harry had known he should leave. His friends would be looking for him, especially since he'd been gone from his dorm even before they woke and had subsequently missed breakfast. He also knew Snape had work to be getting on with, work that didn't involve 'pampering his student's worldview'. Still, he'd hesitated in the lull. The routine toil within the daily loam beckoned outside of the dungeon walls, but Harry had felt safe and secure for the first time since waking. He was not ready yet to put that security behind him and rejoin the world of false smiles and pretending nothing was wrong. Snape had somehow understood this, too.

"Chess?" The man had suggested softly.

Harry had blushed as a board was summoned from the man's rooms. "I'm bollocks at it. Ron is always beating me."

"Has he ever taken the time to instruct you?" Snape had asked pointedly.

Harry had had to really think about the question. It had never occurred to him before, because Ron was always coaxing him into playing by saying he'd never get better without practice, but no, the redhead hadn't ever taken the time to give him real lessons. Aside from the first few games they'd played, where Ron had taught him the basics of how each individual piece moved, he had never actually learned how the game itself worked. What he did know had been more from watching his pieces get slaughtered, and the few balking suggestions thrown out from the pieces themselves, than from any formal guidance. Finally, Harry had shaken his head and straightened in his chair as Snape set up the black and white marble game-pieces.

Snape had smirked knowingly. "Then perhaps it is time someone did."

They had played. For hours, Harry had watched his amateur defenses get slaughtered, but with each loss Snape would patiently explain where he'd gone wrong, and what he could do differently. At first, Harry took these suggestions as law and had continued to lose spectacularly. But, as time wore on and the lunch hour slipped by, he'd begun seeing the subtleties he'd missed at first. It was no different from Quidditch. Each piece had a job to do, and could do only that job, but there was nothing that said there was only one way to go about it. He'd still lost every game, even after discovering how a developing strategy worked, but each loss had been well-earned.

They had ended on the best game Harry had played to date, where he had nearly trapped the Potions Master in a stalemate if he hadn't forgotten the black queen still lurking in the corners of the board. Snape had congratulated him on his progress, and had proceeded to order another light meal to replace the second meal they had missed in the Great Hall. While they'd eaten, Harry had begun questioning the man on his experiments, which he had heard little of since their last remedial lessons over the Christmas holiday. Snape had been happy to oblige with explanations about his advances and setbacks, and they had laughed together over the nuisance of day-to-day interruptions. By the time Harry had left, he'd forgotten his nighttime terrors almost entirely in the wake of Snape's dark chuckles and bright companionship. Harry thought he could live through a lifetime of night terrors, if he could hear that brimming over of dark humor ever day when he woke. And he didn't find this thought in the least bit odd, because Snape was his friend…as hard as that still was to believe.

When Harry walked into Gryffindor Common Room, he was immediately accosted. Ron, Hermione, Dean, Ginny, and Neville, surrounded him, their proximity making him so uncomfortable as to make him wish he'd come in wearing the silvery cloak tucked into the pocket of his robes that would have let him go unnoticed. He managed a careful smile.

"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione demanded. "We've been worried sick! You weren't in your dorm, and you missed breakfast _and_ lunch."

"I-"

"Seriously, mate, I thought you'd been kidnapped!" Ron threw in, interrupting him.

Harry backed away as his friends pressed closer. "I…It-I haven't been anywhere, I was just-"

"Don't feed us that, Harry," Ginny said crossly. "We looked everywhere, even the Hospital Wing."

"What the hell were you thinking, disappearing like that?" Dean said hotly.

"W-we really were w-worried, Harry," Neville added almost hesitantly.

Harry frowned with a sigh and gestured his friends away from the prying ears of the rest of the Common Room. They followed anxiously, as he led them to an unoccupied corner. With another sigh, Harry spoke in low tones.

"Look, I'm sorry I worried you guys, but I really am all right," Harry said. "I'll tell you where I was, but I'd rather it didn't get spread around the school."

"We would never do that," Ginny swore.

Harry nodded. "I know you wouldn't, at least not intentionally. I was in Snape's office."

"All _day_?" Neville asked incredulously.

"I wondered why you were _both_ gone from the meals," Hermione commented.

Harry nodded again. "I had a really bad nightmare, worse than anything I've had since Voldemort's visions stopped," He admitted. "I already told you how Snape's been helping me cope with my nightmares, and when I couldn't shake this one I went down to see him. He helped talk me through it, and after that he took my mind off of things by butchering me at chess for a few hours. I'm sorry I just vanished on you, but I wouldn't trade the last several hours for anything, not even your peace of mind. Are you satisfied?"

His friends nodded almost reluctantly, Neville and Hermione looking hurt while Ron and Ginny looked slightly affronted. Harry ignored these sullen looks.

"Good," He murmured. "And I really am sorry for worrying you. But you can't tell _anyone_ where I was, understood? I don't want to give Malfoy anything else to encourage the rumors he's trying to start about me and Snape."

"We understand, Harry, we won't say anything," Ginny said softly.

Hermione chewed her lip. "But, Harry, there isn't anything to these rumors Malfoy's spreading, is there?" Harry scowled. "I just mean…it's awfully odd that you and Snape are suddenly being friendly. And Snape has really backed off of Gryffindor since Christmas, when you spent almost every day in the dungeons with him…"

"Geez, Hermione!" Harry growled angrily. "Why would you even suggest such a thing?" The witch flinched visibly, but this did not stop Harry's anger. "Am I not allowed to have one good thing without you turning it into a goddamn conspiracy?! Do you all think I'm taking it from Snape for better grades or something?"

None of his friends would meet his eye, and Harry gaped at them angrily.

"It-it's just…really weird, Harry," Neville spoke in a barely audible whisper.

"I can't believe you guys!" Harry shouted, forgetting they were still in the common room. He pushed past his friends and started towards the dorm. He took no notice of the curious looks from the other Gryffindors in the common room, or the hesitantly suspicious stares from the friends he'd left in the corner. It never struck him that he'd forgotten to actually deny the accusations of his friends, or what this failure of denial might put in the minds of the five Gryffindors.


	17. Chapter 17

The bustle of the student-filled village surrounded Hogwarts' Potions Master as he casually made his way through the streets. It was Valentine's Day. Normally, this alone would have put him in a foul mood, and he'd have taken the opportunity to assign as many unearned detentions as possible. Today, however, he found this desire notably absent. Why should he interrupt their youthful joy, just because he had no one with whom to share the holiday?

Severus was about to turn towards The Three Broomsticks when he spotted Potter walking out of Honeydukes. The younger wizard was carrying a bag of sweets, and he was entirely alone. Frowning, Severus made his way across the street to walk beside the young man. Potter smiled brightly upon seeing him.

"Hello, Professor," Potter greeted merrily.

Severus gave a slow nod. "Potter," He said in turn. "Why are you not mooning in a lovesick caricature with your peers?"

Potter chuckled. "I assume you mean 'why am I not with my friends'. The short answer is that I got ditched."

"I'm sorry," Severus empathized.

"Actually, I don't mind…now…" Potter said.

They shared a soft, meaningful look that Severus couldn't comprehend even as he returned the gentle stare. Potter turned back to the street ahead.

"Anyway," Potter continued. "I'm sure you'd agree that watching your best friends make kissy faces at each other is among the least fun ways to spend any day, let alone Valentines."

Severus smirked. "I can only imagine the horror."

Potter laughed again. "Oh, it is truly a worse torture than anything I've ever witnessed," He crooned with feigned misery.

Severus was surprised to hear himself chuckle, something he never did where students might hear. Potter laughed again when he cleared his throat of his laughter.

"I was on my way to The Three Broomsticks for tea," Severus said suggestively. "Perhaps you would join me?"

Potter shook his head. "Tea sounds nice, but I don't think you're going to get a table. I went there before I stopped at Honeydukes, and the place is packed. Standing room only, and barely that."

"That, Mister Potter, is a problem for the students occupying my desired table," Severus remarked with a sadistic smirk.

Potter looked at him with false surprise. "Why, Professor Snape, are you suggesting that you use your powers as a Slytherin to scare students into submission?"

Severus gave a dark chuckle. "I am _suggesting_ nothing of the sort."

Potter smirked as well. "All right. You've convinced me. I _must_ see these powers of persuasion in action. Lead the way, Professor."

And so Severus did. They crossed the street towards the packed tavern together, moving towards the infamous tavern. Once inside, Severus saw that Potter hadn't been exaggerating the lack of space. Each table was packed tightly with students. The Potions Master ignored the playful smirk he received from his companion, who had crossed his arms over his chest and was gesturing to the packed pub challengingly. Squaring his shoulders, Severus met the eye of the proprietor, who looked harried, to say the least. As per, she returned his stare questioningly, and he gave his usual stiff nod, subtly gesturing to the young man beside him. A moment's stark surprise flashed across the witch's plain features, before she gave a shrug and turned towards the bar. Severus began to lead a winding path between the students, who shifted out of his way easily. Potter followed closely as they neared the table Severus had long since claimed as his own.

Upon reaching the smallish table, where a Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were staring adoringly into one another's eyes, Severus cleared his throat audibly. Both students, a Fifth and Sixth Year respectively, looked up at him. A dark glare later, and they quickly evacuated the seats, the Hufflepuff nearly toppling his chair in his hurry. Severus smirked as he took his seat, pushing aside the abandoned butterbeer in front of him. Potter sat opposite him, trying to hide his snickering, and set the Ravenclaw's butterbeer aside as well.

"Now," Potter said, grinning. "Just imagine if you used your powers for good."

Severus smirked, brushing aside invisible crumb on the table. "Where would the fun be in that?"

Sharp onyx met shimmering emeralds across the table's expanse, and the noise of the tavern seemed to dim to a dull roar in Severus' head. He felt a sudden, mercifully brief, urge to reach across the table and capture the grinning lips of his students. Before he could examine this feeling, or the stab of guilt it brought, Rosmerta appeared beside him, setting two cups of tea on the table and sweeping up the abandoned bottles they'd replaced.

"Wish you could do that to the whole pub, Severus," The witch commented, smiling. "I don't mind the business, but the _noise…_ "

Potter smirked. "I think if he tried he might clear all of Hogsmeade."

Severus wrinkled his nose playfully at his student as Rosmerta chuckled appreciatively and moved away. He and Potter sipped at their tea, and Severus purposefully avoiding the younger wizard's gaze, lest the urge from before return. Instead, he swept again at invisible crumbs.

"So," The Potions Master began lightly. "What, may I ask, is the long answer?"

Potter frowned, then shrugged. "I don't really want to talk about my friends. I'm a bit sore at them right now. Let's talk about something else."

"What shall we discuss?"

Potter seemed to give this some consideration. "Let's talk about you," He said boldly. Severus looked up in surprise, drawing a chuckle from the Gryffindor. "I'm serious. We're always talking about me; my nightmares, and my friends, and what I'm doing after Hogwarts. I'm curious about _you_."

Severus hesitated, but found he could not deny that earnest green gaze. "Very well, Mister Potter, you have swayed me. What, pray tell, would you like to know?"

Potter grinned, and Severus resigned himself to the spark of challenge in the green eyes. It occurred to him, as they began to talk of his days as a student of Hogwarts, that he could at any point refuse, manipulate the conversation back to Potter instead. However, with this realization came the intimate blossom of good-feeling that said he didn't want to. Few people had ever wanted to learn about him simply for the sake of doing so, with no ulterior motive. Potter's interest wasn't one of discovery, or even prying curiosity, it was due solely to the fact of their friendship. Never once did the younger wizard pry where Severus didn't want him to, and only once did he lead the conversation towards dark waters by mentioning his father, which he immediately apologized for. And so, Severus spoke of days gone past, even after they had left the tavern to once again traverse the streets of Hogsmeade side-by-side.


	18. Chapter 18

Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower about an hour before dinner, having walked back with Snape at the man's insistence once the overcast sky had begun to drift with flurries of late winter snow. He walked into the Common Room to find his friends and dorm mates whispering at a table, the Common Room otherwise empty with the First and Second Years on the grounds in the snow and the rest of Gryffindor either still in Hogsmeade or playing with the younger Years.

Harry immediately walked over to his friends, grinning. He'd enjoyed Valentines for the first time since coming to the Wizarding World, thanks to Snape. Except for a mercifully brief urge to kiss the man that he'd experienced when they'd first sat down at The Three Broomsticks, an urge he blatantly refused to contemplate, he'd had a fairly spectacular day. It had been nice to be in the company of someone who was solely focused on him, and it had been a secret joy to coax the rare laughter out of the normally stoic Potions Master.

Harry's grin faltered as he approached his whispering friends only to have them stop abruptly and turn to stare at him seriously.

"Hey, guys, what's up? You all look like someone told you your dog died," He joked, trying to lighten the heavy mood.

None of his friends smiled.

"Harry, please sit down, we need to have a serious talk," Hermione said primly.

Harry frowned now as he stood at the end of the table. He ignored, for now, the seat available, and stared back as his friends watched him. Hermione was the only one who was brave enough to meet his eye, and he stared back defiantly at his tight-lipped friend. Finally, she spoke.

"Harry, we think what you're doing is wrong," She said flatly.

Harry stared at her in confusion. "I don't-"

"It's downright disgusting, is what it is!" Ron interrupted. "What the hell are you thinking, Harry? He's got to be twice your age, and he's a greasy git!"

Harry frowned, finally taking the open seat. "Okay, always assuming I know what the hell you're talking about, would you like to tell me what's so wrong with it?"

"It's _disgusting_ ," Ron repeated.

"And vulgar," Ginny added.

"Not to mention messed up as hell," Seamus spat.

Harry frowned around at his friends. "You…you're not making any sense."

"We saw you, Harry," Hermione said accusingly. "I don't want to tell you how to live your life, but this has to stop. The _whole school_ is talking about it!"

"Talking about _what_?" Harry demanded, growing impatient.

"Your date with Snape!" Neville answered loudly.

Harry gaped at his friends. "My _what_?" The table of Gryffindors stared back at him accusingly, and Harry felt laughter bubble up in his throat. "You-you can't be serious."

"We _saw_ you!" Hermione said again. "Half of Hogsmeade saw you! You had tea together, and then you walked around the village in your own little bubble! Some students are even claiming to have seen you hold hands!"

Harry could no longer hold his laughter. "That-that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" He cried, laughing violently. "That wasn't a _date_! We were just…hanging out after you all _abandoned_ me for your own little Valentines dates! Merlin, what's wrong with you? Snape's my friend!"

"That's not what it looked like, Harry," Hermione accused darkly. "You need to stop this before one or both of you gets hurt."

"Stop _what_?" Harry asked disbelievingly.

"You spend all your time with him, Harry! You've spent the last three weekends in the dungeons! And you're constantly defending him now!" Ginny cried

"That's what you do with friends!" Harry argued, still laughing.

"He's just using you, Harry, can't you see that?" Dean demanded hotly. "Snape's a Slytherin, the _head_ Slytherin. He doesn't have any real feelings for anyone! He's just using you for a good fuck!"

Harry's laughter vanished as if he'd been slapped, and he glowered at his friends. "That's going too far, Dean."

"No it isn't, Harry," Ron said angrily. "We all think so! Snape's a git, he wouldn't know love if it bit him on the arse. We're saying this as your friends: put an end to it before things get out of hand!"

Harry stood violently from his chair, toppling it. Anger, born partially out of guilt for his own wayward desires earlier in the day, seared through his veins. "If you were really my friends you'd trust me! There's _nothing_ going on between me and Snape, and there never will be! And even if there were, you must all take responsibility for having driven me to him by being terrible friends! You two, my supposed 'best' friends, are so involved with each other that you couldn't be bothered to notice I was slowly killing myself since last year! The rest of you don't even have excuses, except that you were just too busy to be bothered! _Snape_ is a true friend; he actually cares about what happens to me, whereas you six have only ignored me for most of the year! So what if I want to spend my time with him, when the alternative is being ignored by the people who _claim_ to have my best interests at hearts!" He shouted.

"Harry, we-"

"Enough!" The Wizarding Savior cried. "I'm tired of you accusing me like this! And I won't listen to you bad mouth the one person in this world who makes me feel like a goddamn human! If you were really my friends, you'd be happy that I found a friend who understands me while you were busy with your nightmare-free lives!"

With those parting words, Harry fled Gryffindor Common Room and his supposed friends. He quickly found the tapestry that hid the Room of Requirement, and after pacing angrily in front of it, he disappeared inside. Therein, as his anger at his friends broiled low in his belly, he worried over the sudden desire that had sparked in him towards the professor in question, even as his heart ached to see him.


	19. Chapter 19

Severus paused as he entered the Teacher's Lounge following his return from Hogsmeade. As soon as he'd entered, conversation amongst the other professors had died abruptly. He glowered around at his colleagues, and they stared back suspiciously. It was Minerva who approached him.

"Severus, what have you done?" She demanded crossly.

"How could you, Severus?" Filius demanded, behind her.

Severus scowled. "What are you on about?"

"The students are talking, Severus, as I said they would!" Minerva answered. "They're saying you spent the day in the village with Potter, on a _date_! You were seen holding hands!"

Severus scoffed dismissively. "Little more than gossip."

"So you deny it, Severus?" Aurora asked.

"Of course I deny it!" Severus snarled at the witch. "I'll grant that I spent the day with Potter-"

A collective gasp moved across the room.

"Severus! He's _seventeen_ , and a student of this school! What have you _done_?!" Minerva cried again.

"I've done nothing wrong!" Severus snarled, glowering at each of his accusers in turn. "I noted Potter was without his friends and made a decision _as_ his friend to remedy the situation! It was not a date, and we certainly didn't hold hands like school children!"

"Severus, you were seen!"

"And the students have never exaggerated rumors, Minerva!" Severus spat sarcastically. "How _dare_ you accuse me so baselessly!"

"It is not without evidence!" The diminutive Head of Ravenclaw claimed in his grating voice. "You've been spending an inordinate amount of time with the boy, Severus, we've all noticed. Never before have you taken such an interest in a student's welfare. You must admit, this sudden companionship is suspicious."

"I admit nothing of the sort," Severus argued, seething. " _You_ must admit that there has never, and likely never shall be again in our lifetimes, a student like Potter! That _adult_ wizard has been through more hell than any of you combined! Is it so surprising that he would come to me, perhaps the only one amongst us who can truly understand his plight?"

"It is, Severus," Pomona said primly. "And what of that evening Potter spent in your quarters? Or his sudden renewed interest in your course? Are you saying that none of this has been borne of indecent behavior with the student in question?"

"That is precisely what I am saying!" Severus said, ignoring the twinge of guilt he felt as he recalled the more than improprietous spark of yearning he'd felt for the younger wizard while they'd been in the village. A surprised laugh escaped him, visibly startling his colleagues. "Surely you are all saying this in jest!" He proclaimed, trying to stifle his laughter. "You cannot seriously think so little of me as to believe I would stoop to debauchery with a student!"

His colleagues, his supposed friends, stared back at him defiantly, and his laughter vanished.

"I see," He muttered darkly. "I am Severus Snape, the Death Eater, and I cannot possibly show someone goodwill without some ulterior motive."

"Severus, that isn't-"

"Fair?!" Severus demanded of Minerva, a woman he'd thought himself close to. He stepped away as she reached for him. "No, it isn't Minerva. Damn you all; whatever monster you may think me, I will not allow you to reduce my friendship with that heavily scarred young man into something your miniscule opinion of me can digest. Potter is my friend, and he shall remain thus, especially as it has become clear that he is the only one I have."

"Severus!"

The Potions Master ignored the pleas of his colleagues as he stormed from the Teacher's Lounge to return to his dungeons where he belonged. A secret ache in his heart yearned for Potter's presence to brighten his dark mood. An even more secret ache, one he shied away from shamefully, yearned for the feel of silken, bronze skin under his fingertips.


	20. Chapter 20

Harry left the Room of Requirement when it came time for dinner, feeling only slightly better than when he'd left Gryffindor. He froze in the seventh floor corridor when he realized his friends were gathered outside the tapestry, obviously waiting for him. He glowered warily as the few who'd been sitting stood, and they approached as a group.

"Harry, we're sorry," Hermione said, acting as the voice of the group as they all stared ashamedly at their feet. "We should never have accused you, and we shouldn't have said what we did about Snape. We want you to know, it doesn't matter what is or isn't happening between you and Snape, we're still your friends, and we'll always stick by you. With the rumors moving through the school, no doubt being fueled by Malfoy's wagging tongue, we know that you don't need to deal with us and our suspicions as well. We love you, Harry, even if we don't always agree with your choices."

The Wizarding Savior immediately noticed that his friend had said nothing of them believing his claims that he and Snape weren't in a torrid relationship. Still, if there really were rumors being spread throughout the Houses about him and the Potions Master having some sort of sexual affair, having his friends to support him was more important than ever. He had been the subject of baseless, angry rumors before, and he knew the cruelty of children intimately. Yes, his friends still suspected him without proof, and against his own denials, but he was grateful to have them. With a firm nod, Harry forced himself to smile.

"Thanks," He said simply. "Let's get to dinner."

His friends all nodded, still ashamedly not meeting his eye, and they all turned as a group towards the Great Hall. Harry led the way, his head held high, as they moved through the corridors and down the moving staircases. Lone students that he and his friends passed stared as if he was something never-before-seen, and groups whispered conspiratorially behind gossiping hands. Harry passed them all without a glance, doing his best to ignore them. He knew how to do this, had done it so many times before that it came almost as a second nature. It would be impossible to defend against unsubstantiated rumors, and even trying would only throw fuel on the fire. His one hope could only be that, with nothing from him, the rumors would die quickly. Past experience argued that this was unlikely to happen. Teenagers loved to gossip, and his exploits, real or imagined, had always been a favorite topic amongst the students of Hogwarts.

He and his friends reached the doors of the Great Hall and the students already at their tables fell quiet almost as one. Harry continued to feign ignorance as he and his fellow Gryffindors moved to their own table. And then Malfoy stood.

"Hey, Potter! Where's your boyfriend?"

Chuckles moved across the Slytherin Table, and filtered into Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Gryffindor Table, bless their loyalty, glowered at the rest of the Hall angrily. Fate, cruel mistress that she was, had Severus Snape entering with McGonagall and Flitwick from the other end of the Hall. Harry grimaced, looking apologetically up at the Head Table, as Malfoy crooned again.

"Oh, there he is!"

Harry met Snape's black gaze across the Tables and he looked away guiltily. He couldn't help but blame himself for the man's embarrassment. If he'd been strong enough to deal with his nightmares on his own…Harry didn't complete the thought, instead lifting his head high again. He could feel guilt later, when he was alone. For now, any sign of weakness would only feed the ravenous wolf pack that Hogwarts had become.


	21. Chapter 21

Dark, silken covers shifted as long, pale limbs twisted beneath them. Severus was in the throes of a dream that culminated from the new emotions he had still not taken the time to analyze about a certain, guarded war hero. A throaty moan snuck past pale lips as a hand slithered under satin sheets to trail down his body to his hard core, which was weeping gently against his slim, toned abdomen in anticipation. With the lightest of touches, his sleeping fingers caressed his burning need gently as his subconscious dreamed of what might have been.

" _Do my actions, performed under duress as they were, equate me to the Death Eaters who volunteered willingly, Mister Potter?"_

 _He had been here before. They were sitting on his couch, Potter leaning against his chest tiredly. Potter leaned up as he had on that night that had changed everything. Just as he had before, his lips hesitantly touched Severus' mouth with naïve uncertainty. It was a kiss of faith, proof of unerring gratitude and trust. Only this time, instead of pushing the Gryffindor away to explain that_ that _would never happen, Severus buried his fingers in the dark, untamed mess of hair and drew the younger wizard closer, deepening the kiss._

 _Their tongues warred as their chests clashed. Fingers pulled and tore at clothing and hair, each of them pressing closer for much needed contact. Tight, Quidditch-toned thighs pressed against him as Potter clambered into his lap, seeking friction with such fervor befitting his age. Their pelvises grazed together, and Severus was driven wild by the delicious sounds this produced from his young would-be lover. With swift, cat-like movements, the Potions Master flipped them so that his student lay beneath him, writhing in ecstasy against the cushions of his couch._

 _As can only happen in dreams, their clothing vanished, laying them bear against each other as they clawed in all-consuming need. Their bodies pressed and glided together ardently, fingers touched and groped, and mouths devoured flesh and muscle with a driving lust. Severus felt his soul, stained though it was, burning brightly with an engrossing urgency to consume, and be consumed by, the younger wizard beneath him. Potter's fingers feathered across his skin, and he groaned passionately as he pulled away from the kiss._

" _Potter, you are a vexing little incubus," Severus growled against swollen lips._

 _Potter smirked beneath him, raking his nails down the length of Severus' spine. "Then perhaps I should be punished, Professor."_

 _The devilish, young nymph slithered out of Severus' grasp and turned, leaning over the arm of the couch and waving bronzed globes invitingly. Green eyes flashed over a scarred shoulder challengingly. With a snarl of lustful hunger, Severus knelt on the cool leather of his couch and grabbed those slim hips. His sharp teeth sunk into the flesh above one round cheek, marking the skin at the small of the tan back. His mouth trailed upward as he shifted continually forward, leaving even more blackish, bruising evidence of his lustful desire across the expanse of flesh._

 _When he felt the tip of his weeping head meet the crevice it wept for, Severus arched up, throwing his head back with a needy moan. Even in his dream, he hesitated before consummation could be reached, questioningly gliding against the hips that pressed against him. Potter croaked out a whimpering plea._

" _Take me, Professor," The younger wizard breathed. "Make me yours."_

 _And so, the Death Eater stole away inside of the Savior of the Wizarding World. Their passions took them, and they rode together towards oblivion, their cries echoing off the dungeon walls. Fingers clawed and hips pressed together in a frenzied rhythm. Teeth bit ferociously, tearing at flesh. Even as their bodies joined and rejoined, it wasn't enough to feed Severus' need. His hands gripped bruisingly, clawing at perfectly bronzed flesh with a need to climb inside and be one with the gasping Gryffindor._

 _The explosive fire of climax drew closer, like a naked demon clamoring to be free of it's cage. Potter shouted his excitement into the dungeon air, pressing back with each cloying thrust. Severus slammed forward angrily, each thrust driving his student forward. Oblivion crashed upon him with a tidal wave of fire that boiled the blood in his veins._

Severus awoke with a shout as the evidence of his dream burst upon his abdomen and sleep pants. He gasped breathlessly into the still dungeon air, black eyes flashing open in the dim moonlight that filtered in through the magical window in his rooms, sparking like hard flints. Guilt stabbed at his heart viciously as he waved on the lights and banished the testimony of his dangerously straying thoughts.

The Potions Master sat up on the edge of his bed. The cold of the night air struck his naked chest like ice, cooling his heated, sweating skin as he buried his head in his hands. Guilt and shame warred in his heart, even as the memory of the dream coaxed a flickering burn of desire low in his belly.

What had he just done?

Above him, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry slept on.


	22. Chapter 22

Miles above a guilt-ridden Potions Master, Harry Potter shifted under his own sheets in Gryffindor Tower. His mouth opened in a silent gasp of desire, his mind lost in the throes of a dream that starved his lungs of air and sent his heart racing beneath his ribcage. His spine arched towards his trailing hand as his palm pressed and glided against the bulge struggling against the confines of his pajama bottoms.

 _Harry entered the dungeon office of Hogwarts' Potions Master without knocking. Snape sat behind his desk, working diligently on some parchment. Attractive half-moon spectacles sat perched on the overlarge nose. Without a word, Harry moved across the dimly lit office and glided around the desk. His fingers reached out to caress slim, tense shoulders as he came to stand behind the hunched Potions Master. He drew a gentle moan, the falcon feather quill falling from a loosened grasp, as his fingers began kneading at muscles hidden beneath black robes._

" _You work too hard," Harry murmured against a vaguely pointed ear._

 _Snape moaned again as he arched into Harry's continued ministrations. "How perceptive of you," The older wizard mumbled sarcastically._

 _Harry chuckled, searching out the knots of muscle and coaxing them free of their confines. Slim fingers reached up and stopped his hand, drawing his arm over the dark clad shoulder so that pale lips could press feather-light kisses to his palm. The Gryffindor gasped, his body sparking with desire, as a moist, pink tongue slithered out of the warm cavern to trace the lines of his palm. After a moment, Snape sat back in his chair and encouraged Harry to step around. Harry let himself be led around the chair by the gentle hand, and went willingly as he was drawn down to sit across a black-clad lap._

" _What're you doing down here at this hour, Mister Potter?" Snape asked, taking off his own spectacles and tossing them onto the desk._

 _Harry shivered as long fingers burrowed under his shirt to draw nonsensically on his skin. "I wanted to see you," He murmured, shifting in the lap as his body responded to the light, innocent touches. He felt the hard press of Snape's passion through the fabric of his trousers and couldn't stop a gasp of wanton need._

" _Checking up on me, Minx?" Severus queried, his head dipping to trail kisses along Harry's jaw and throat._

 _The Gryffindor nodded, shifting again over the driving need pressing against his buttocks. He smirked when this action drew a groan of desire from the Potions Master. Again, he wiggled his hips, a feeling of need bursting alight low in his belly. He needed more, but didn't know how to ask._

" _Professor…" He breathed gently._

" _Tell me what you need, Harry," Snape hissed into his ear._

 _Harry drove his hips down, harder. "I need to feel you."_

 _Sharp nails scratched teasingly at his side. As can only happen in dreams, Harry found himself unexpectedly lying across the expanse of the teacher's desk, which was suddenly clear of everything but him. Snape's hands glided slowly over his stomach and sides, pressing his shirt ever upward. Light kisses trailed over his abdomen wherever the shirt moved. When his shirt could go no higher, he was coaxed into sitting up and the cloth was slowly pulled over his head, calloused fingers caressing his arms with every inch._

 _With the shirt gone, Harry moaned as his mouth was devoured in a slow, agonizing hunger. Fingernails scratched at his covered thighs as he was laid back against the desk again. He reached out, and his fingers found flesh, Snape's stifling robes gone without thought or action. Fingers caressed and grazed over naked flesh, all of their clothing now vanished as only dreams can supply. Their bodies pressed together without hesitation, and Harry gasped into the still dungeon air as a burning rod of flesh pressed against him._

 _Without hesitation, the Savior of the Wizarding World impaled himself slowly on the spear of the Death Eater's passion. The copulating press and glide of their hips was slow and exploratory. Desire sparked between them, but a deeper emotion lit Harry's blood aflame as his soul yearned to mesh with his professor's. There was no fervent need here, as their bodies arched together, consummating unspoken vows of love and devotion._

 _Slowly, so slowly, Harry felt it as he was led to the edge of the world. He stared fearlessly into the abyss beyond, and let gravity carry him over into clarity's blinding embrace. The universe exploded within him with a silent cry of spent passions._

Harry jerked awake in his bed with a strangled shout that he hardly heard. The sound of his racing heart pulsed in his ears like the ebb and flow of ocean waves in a storm, and he gulped air into his starved lungs. Green eyes flashed with worry as he looked around his sleeping dorm room, praying he hadn't been heard. His dorm mates each lay completely unawares in their beds, illuminated by shimmering moonlight. With a wave of his hand, he quickly banished the seed of guilt from his pants. Shame pressed on his breathless lungs as guilty tears stung behind his eyes.

What had he just done?

Below him, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry slept on.


	23. Chapter 23

As the rumors around the school grew, the subjects of these rumors knew it wouldn't be long before the baseless suspicions became real news. A week after Valentines, their prediction came true. Plastered across the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ was a scandalous article, with the even more scandalous headline _Schoolyard Seduction_.

The article, whose appearance alone seemed to solidify suspicion as fact in the minds of Hogwarts' populace, made wild suppositions that fell just short of an outright accusation. Both sides of the coin recognized with fury that there were details about their relationship which could only have been gathered from those they thought themselves closest to. Namely, Harry's night spent in Severus' quarters at the start of the year, and then Severus' continued support over 'chess' (quoted as if the author meant something else entirely) in stolen weekend moments that 'claim to be spent in the former Death Eater's office'. With each detail, the infamous gossip Rita Skeeter seemed to put into words a solicitous wink that suggested something wholly indecent was happening under the noses of Hogwarts' Board of Governors.

Skeeter, with her talented quill, made the friendship between Harry and Severus out to be a lascivious indulgence in pedophilia. Throughout the article, she continually referred to the Potions Master as a 'former Death Eater', reminding her readers of his dark past while skating easily over his involvement which had helped end the second war. Alongside this staunch reminder, she referred to Harry multiple times as a 'poor urchin, led astray', making him out to sound 12, instead of the legal adult wizard he was. Even still, she maintained that, though rumors persisted in the seedy underbelly of the school, she would never herself accuse two wizards of such good-standing of anything so lecherous as what the aforementioned rumors insisted was going on.

Harry Potter and Severus Snape each fled from their respective tables in the Great Hall, under the accusing stares of everyone around them. Each yearned for the comfort of the other, but neither was brave enough to seek it out, and so went, cold and alone, to the relative privacy of their homes within the castle. Hogwarts herself seemed to balk at the crescendo of whispered words amongst the staff and students. No cruelty was spared as each man suffered in stoic silence against the flood of letters from 'concerned citizens' throughout the Wizarding World.

Within days, the Board of Governors was incited into action, lest they be buried under their own accusations of deliberate ignorance. Albus Dumbledore was informed forthwith of what would soon come to pass. Out of respect to the war heroes within the school, they were given a week's warning.

 _-Break-_

"Severus, please sit down," Albus invited, the twinkle gone from his vibrant blue eyes. The Potions Master remained where he was in the center of the room. With a sigh, the Headmaster steepled his fingers on his desk. "There's to be an official inquiry."

Severus remained impassive even as his heart clenched with fear and betrayal. "I had assumed there would be." He said evenly.

"I am sorry, Severus."

"Do not be, there is nothing you could have done to prevent this," The Potions Master replied, still impassive.

"Damn it, Severus, this could mean your job! Can you say nothing in your own defense?!" The Headmaster ordered crossly.

"What would you have me say, Albus?" Severus asked calmly. "You and everyone else have already assumed the worst of me. I have heard the whispers around the school, have seen the stares from even my own Slytherins. Nothing I can say will change your opinions, no matter how false I believe them to be."

"So you maintain that you have done nothing to warrant this investigation?"

"Of course."

"But you will not fight it?"

"There would be little point. It will happen, whether I protest or not."

"Don't you care at all?!" Albus demanded.

Severus allowed himself to glower, still holding a tight rein on his anger. "You know that I do," He seethed. "My position within the school, has, until recently, been the only good thing in a life brimming over with the darkness in peoples' hearts! Potter, however, has proven in the last several months that I have a greater purpose, _outside_ the definition of my role here. And rather than being supportive of a closeness _you yourself_ encouraged in the past, you had rather accuse me of immoral self-indulgence! So, no, Headmaster, I can say nothing in my own defense, because there is nothing of me to defend in the face of _your_ betrayal! We have both of us made our beds, and must both now lie in them, for better or for worse!"

"Severus, I have never believed the accusations lain against you, surely you know that," Albus pleaded.

Severus scoffed. "You were the first to throw mud, Albus, do not feign innocence, or pretend otherwise. On the morning following my discovery of just how broken _you_ had left your precious Golden Boy, it was _you_ who reminded me of Potter's age and status as my student. It was _you_ who first sowed the seed of suspicion. Do not balk now at the weed that has grown of your own distrust."

Albus sighed, and pointedly avoided meeting Severus' accusatory gaze. "All right, I understand your point. I am sorry, Severus, for what that is worth. As it is, you are correct that there is nothing either of us can do to forestall the inquiry," He looked up with a steely, hard-heartedness few would suspect him of having. "In the meantime, I am ordering you to stay away from Harry Potter."

Severus drew a deep breath in through his nose, crossing his arms over his chest. "No."

"Severus, see reason! You cannot-"

"I said 'no', Albus, and my decision stands," Severus snarled. "My friendship with Potter was borne of his need for someone to understand him, his need for _me_. As long as that need remains, I will continue to do right by him. Right now, he feels betrayed by the puling children he thinks of as family, and he needs me almost more than he did when this whole torrid thing began."

"Severus, the Board-"

"He is my friend!" Severus roared angrily. "I will not abandon Potter in his time of need just because you're uncomfortable with the politics, Albus!"

Without waiting for a response, Severus stormed from the Headmaster's office, slamming the door behind him with a satisfying crash. He did not ever stop to question why it was _this_ …this dangerous thing brewing under the surface…for which he fought so strongly. It was nothing to do with his guilt-laden, growing attraction, and everything to do with that crimson streak of stubborn that he secretly harbored. Let nothing ever come of his other feelings, he would maintain his friendship with Potter, even if it meant the world would come crashing down around his ears. And it well might, sooner than he'd like.


	24. Chapter 24

Harry sighed as he copied notes about that day's Potions lecture. This had become his simplest course by far. Aside from Malfoy's first loud and lewd comments in the Great Hall the night of Valentines, the students were unsurprisingly silent around the Potions Master. Harry suspected it was more out of fear than respect.

Outside of Potions, however, tongues continued to wag. Harry had become a mockery, even within his own House, as students jeered at him about his supposed affair. Kids could be cruel, and that cruelty was levied against him now, as it always seemed to be. He knew that the intention was to hurt him, but he found it impossible to pay them any mind. It was his friends, and their loose talk, which stung him deeply. The sting of betrayal was fresh, a gaping knife wound in his back, as they continued to whisper about him in spite of their claims of unerring support.

And it was the whispers that dug at him the worst. He could withstand the jeers and torment, even what he faced daily in letters from the concerned public, had had plenty of practice, but the _whispers_ …They did not follow him alone. He had done his best, since Valentine's Day, to steer clear of Snape, but he knew the man was suffering as badly as he was, if not worse. Harry could ignore the taunts, and the occasional crude drawing thrown at the back of his head, but he didn't know that the Potions Master was as easily ignorant. For days now, he had longed for the man's companionship, but he hadn't dared to seek it out for fear of embarrassing them both further. If, that was, Snape still wanted anything to do with him.

With these thoughts of self-doubt (because really, why would anyone think him worth the trouble he had thus far caused), came the suffocating guilt about his growing attraction. It was this, more than anything, that kept his silence in the face of adversity. It terrified the Wizarding Savior, to think what would happen if he slipped. Merlin forbid, if his accusers, or worse, if Snape, discovered the astringent desire he'd begun to feel towards the former Death Eater.

"Potter, remain."

Harry flinched when this command elicited obnoxious coos and a sharp, provocative whistle from the other students. The low ring of the magical bell echoed through Hogwarts, signaling the end of class. Harry began packing away his things with the rest of the NEWT students. He kept his head down. That was the major rule he knew to live by. It was impossible for anyone to accuse you to your face if you refused to meet their eye.

"Get out." Snape growled from the front of the classroom.

The students left, but not without further crooning and derisive giggles. Harry finished packing away his things and sat heavily on his stool. It was exhausting, to keep up the pretense of being unaffected by the words of those around you. More exhausting was the thought of what he would face after this minor indiscretion. The corridors of Hogwarts, his home, had become a battlefield of words, and tears threatened anytime he remembered that he was losing the fight.

"You've stopped coming to see me," Snape said pointedly as he moved down amongst the student desks to stand across the aisle from the Gryffindor.

Harry shrugged, staring at his knees. "I honestly didn't think you'd want me to. The rumors…"

"I have become aware of them," Snape spoke quietly.

Harry nodded and they were silent for a moment.

"Potter, the reason for my request…I have been made aware, that, as a result of the rumors amidst the students, and the resultant article in the _Daily Prophet_ , there shall be an official inquiry," Snape said, his voice still low. "I felt it prudent to warn you about what you, and your friends, will face once the inquiry begins."

Harry listened with a slowly sinking heart as the Potions Master explained in detail what would happen under the guidelines of the inquiry. The tears that had threatened since the cruelty had begun stung at his eyes as he realized, for the first time, what his weakness had truly wrought. Snape could lose his position at the school, be branded permanently for something they hadn't even done. He tried to blink back the salty stab of his tears, but they would not be banished now and began to flow freely down his cheeks.

"I'm so sorry," Harry murmured, his voice straining past the lump that had formed in his throat. He was surprised when long fingers carded gently through the hair at the back of his head.

"Why?"

Harry was surprised further when those calloused fingers trailed along his head, to his cheek, stopping under his tucked chin to gently force him to look up into the concerned, curious black gaze. Even through his heart-wrenching tears, he felt a pang of guilt-laden desire flare in his chest upon realizing how close he and the Potions Master were. He shoved the urge to kiss the man violently away as he was drawn into a compassionate embrace. He laid his head almost drunkenly against the hard sternum and wrapped his arms around the bent back as his tears continued.


	25. Chapter 25

Severus tilted that strong, trembling chin up. When he saw those vibrant green eyes shimmering with yet more tears, eyes so much older than Lily's had ever been, he could do nothing but pull the younger wizard against him. Those green eyes were filled with such pain, pain Severus couldn't help but feel he'd cause. If he hadn't been so stubborn in recent months about maintaining the friendship…if he had put a stop to things when he'd first begun hearing the whispers in the staff room, then Potter wouldn't be suffering now. He couldn't imagine what the Gryffindor could possibly feel sorry for.

Potter gave a stifled sob. "If I had just been strong enough," He murmured against Severus' sternum. "If I had dealt with my own problems from the beginning, then _none_ of this would have ever happened."

Severus frowned. "What on Earth are you talking about, Potter?"

Potter tore away from his embrace, almost toppling backwards on his stool in his hurry. "It's my fault!" He said, standing and turning away. Severus reached for the gently shaking shoulders of this tortured young man, but hesitated. "Everything…if I'd controlled my dreams better, you would never be in this mess. If I hadn't exposed my weaknesses, then nothing would have ever changed. You're in trouble now, and it's because of me."

Severus finally convinced himself to touch the trembling shoulders. Potter jerked slightly, but he didn't pull away, and as Severus stepped closer the Gryffindor turned into him, resuming the embrace. Severus carded his fingers through the feathery mop of untamable hair. How could Potter think that any of this was _anything_ to do with either of them?

"This isn't your fault," The Potions Master said quietly. He could feel the tears soaking his robes as Potter shook silently in his arms. "We have neither of us done anything to warrant this investigation. The truth will come out, as it always does in the end."

"But, your job-"

"Is not more important than your friendship and well-being," Severus insisted gently.

Potter pulled far enough away to look up at him, his brow furrowed in a deep frown. "How can you say that? I…I've been nothing but a disrespectful thorn in your side since I came to Hogwarts."

"And I have been a disdainful, sadistic git in turn," Severus argued, swiping away the last silent tears from a bronze cheek. "The simple fact that you have chosen to look past my innumerable flaws and befriend me without prejudice means more to me than a thousand thankless careers. Do you regret the time we have spent together?"

"No!" Potter answered quickly. "I-I couldn't possibly. It's just…it isn't _fair_. We've done nothing wrong, and yet we're being treated like criminals."

Severus smirked, running his thumb with secret longing over the stern jaw. "Well, it may have escaped your notice, but _life_ isn't fair."

Potter offered up a small smile appreciatively. "No shit."

Onyx stared into shimmering emerald warmly for a long moment. Only when Severus realized, almost belatedly, that he was unconsciously leaning towards the unguarded visage of his student; only with the swell of emotion that left him teetering precariously on the edge of right and wrong, did he pull away. Guilt stabbed at him so viciously that his hand trembled as he held it over his traitorous mouth, which had almost cost him everything. He heard Potter clear his throat unsubtly.

"You should go," Severus said, picking his words carefully as if caught in a briar patch. "Lest we risk feeding these untenable rumors further."

"Yeah…" Potter said, a nervous edge to his tone. "I…I want to thank you. Your friendship, it means a lot to me, even if I don't feel like I've shown it up 'til now."

Severus turned, a smirk that might well have been a small smile twisting the corners of his lips. Despite there now being a few feet between them, he felt a second swell of desire that threatened to overwhelm him.

"You need never thank me for my friendship…Harry."

Potter grinned. "I think that's the first time you've ever called me that." He swiped away the last vestiges of his earlier waterworks.

Severus truly smirked now. "Don't get used to it, Brat."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Git," Potter bit back playfully.

They shared another soft look that sparked between them, and then Potter was moving away. Severus watched him disappear out of the classroom, and as soon as the door was shut his smile became pained. It wasn't only guilt that stabbed at him now, but worry. He had told Potter that the truth would come out, but he was not really as sure as he'd sounded. If his colleagues, who still tossed strongly worded accusations at him in the staffroom, away from student ears, expressed their own suspicions during the inquiry, it wouldn't matter what he or anyone else said. Even with Veritaserum, used only as a last resort, the mere fact that the other professors thought him _capable_ of this lecherous depravity could be enough to cost him his position.

Merlin forbid, if his accusers, or Potter himself, were to discover the astringent desire he'd begun to harbor for the Wizarding Savior.


	26. Chapter 26

_Re: Request for Inquiry into suspected inappropriate behavior between a teacher and student within Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry:_

 _Inquiry into [relationship] between Severus Tobias Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts (designated Subject 1) and Harry James Potter, student of Hogwarts (designated Subject 2). Summary of Official Transcript of Proceedings as follows:_

 _Subjects have offered full cooperation. Following inaugural questions, both subjects have professed that the [relationship] in question is non-sexual in nature._

 _Summary: Subject 1:_

 _Examiner questioned [Subject 1] on basis of [relationship] in question. Citing confidentiality, Subject 1 would only explain insofar as to what the [relationship] has thus far entailed. [Subject 1] refused further questions about what had constituted the start of the [relationship]. Further revelatory attempts have been abandoned…_

… _For full Testimony, see full transcript._

 _Summary: Subject 2:_

 _Examiner was faced with laughter from [Subject 2] upon querying whether the [relationship] in question had been consummated in any manner unbefitting a teacher of the school. [Subject 2] apologized, and eventually answered in the negative…_

… _For full Testimony, see full transcript._

 _Summary of Interested Parties Testimony [Subject 1] as follows:_

 _Summary: Subject A. Dumbledore, Headmaster: Cites student confidentiality when questioned on start of [relationship]. Insists [he] has never seen anything to suggest inappropriate advances have been made between [Subjects 1 a. 2]._

 _Summary: Subject M. McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor (see [Subject 2] House placement): Cites student confidentiality when questioned on start of [relationship]. Insists [she] has never seen anything to suggest inappropriate advances have been made between [Subjects 1 a. 2]. Notes that [relationship] in question has changed [Subjects 1 a. 2] for the better._

 _Summary: Subject F. Flitwick, Charms Professor, friend to [Subject 1]: Insists [he] has never seen anything to suggest inappropriate advances have been made between [Subjects 1 a. 2]. Notes that [relationship] in question has changed [Subjects 1 a. 2] for the better._

… _For full and further Testimony, see full transcript_

 _Summary of Interested Parties Testimony [Subject 2] as follows:_

 _Summary: Subject H. Granger, student, friend of [Subject 2]: Insists [she] has never seen anything to suggest inappropriate advances have been made between [Subjects 1 a. 2]. Notes that [relationship] in question has changed [Subjects 1 a. 2] for the better._

 _Summary: Subject R. Weasley, student, friend of [Subject 2]: Insists [he] has never seen anything to suggest inappropriate advances have been made between [Subjects 1 a. 2]. Notes that [relationship] in question has changed [Subjects 1 a. 2] for the better._

 _Summary: Subject G. Weasley, student, friend of [Subject 2]: Insists [she] has never seen anything to suggest inappropriate advances have been made between [Subjects 1 a. 2]. Notes that [relationship] in question has changed [Subjects 1 a. 2] for the better._

… _For full and further Testimony, see full transcript_

 _Personal note from Examiner A. Berk to Board of Governors for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry:_

 _Pointless endeavor. That Skeeter bitch must be sucking down potion fumes to think there's anything amiss going on here. As far as I can tell, Professor Snape is a mark of decorum towards his students. This was nothing more than a wild niffler chase, and a complete waste of school resources and time. There's nothing going on here that's any weirder than anything else that's ever happened in 700 years of Hogwarts' history. Certainly no weirder than the last 7 years of H. Potter's tenure at the school._


	27. Chapter 27

Harry stumbled down the steps of Grimmauld as the noisome bell rang for a second time. He was infinitely grateful for the silencing spell Remus had found that had permanently stifled Sirius' screeching mother. In his hurry, the Wizarding Savior tumbled the last few steps when he tripped over a loose board. He chuckled at his own lack of grace as he threw the door open.

"Should I be concerned that there is a herd of Hippogriffs behind you?" Came the silky drawl.

Harry snickered. "Not as such. Heard me coming, did you?"

"It would have been impossible not to."

Harry moved aside as Snape stepped inside, over the threshold. He closed the door. Turning back, he almost tripped over the Troll leg umbrella stand he was forever forgetting to toss out or move. Snape's warm chuckle brightened the dim hallway.

"As graceful as ever, Potter."

Harry chuckled as well. "Nah, I'm a walking accident just waiting to happen," He said. His gaze softened as he stared at his former professor. "It's good to see you, Snape, really. I had thought, with my graduating…Well, it's good to see you in any case."

"And you as well, Mister Potter."

They stared at each other for a long moment before Harry broke the eye contact, his libido making itself known. When he looked back up, he'd managed to stamp down the wave of desire that had crashed over him. He grinned playfully.

"I-"

"Severus!" Remus appeared suddenly in the front hall from the doorway into the library. "What are you doing here?"

Snape produced a potion phial from the pocket of his robes. "I am delivering your Wolfsbane."

Remus grinned. "Oh, I was beginning to wonder why it hadn't arrived yet. Don't know why you went to the trouble, you could have just posted it via an owl, as you usually do. A blue moon's no different than any other."

Snape declined to answer, but Harry caught a solicitous glance of black eyes that spoke volumes. They both knew, without saying, that Snape had really come to see him. Harry was unfairly heartened by this knowledge, as the three of them moved into the library. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't stop the blossom of hopeful longing in his chest at knowing Snape had come for the sole purpose of a visit.

Once in the library, Harry stood by awkwardly as Remus tried and failed to engage Snape in conversation. Each attempt was met with monosyllabic responses. After a few minutes, Remus seemed to realize he was getting nowhere, and the room devolved into a tense silence. After another minute, Remus finally understood that Snape wasn't leaving as yet, and that it was not _him_ for which he remained. The werewolf cleared his throat delicately.

"I'll just…uh…go and take my potion, shall I?" He said.

Harry nodded, smiling innocently, and his honorary godfather left the room a little hastily. When the door had closed, Harry smiled a little nervously at the Potions Master.

"Tea?" He suggested. "It's not as good as Madame Rosmerta, but Dobby is still pretty good at it."

Snape gave a stiff nod of acquiescence and Harry called for the House Elf that had adopted him as a master. Dobby appeared immediately with a small 'pop'. After explaining what they wanted, Dobby bowed low, a habit Harry couldn't seem to break him of, and popped away again. Harry shifted nervously in the silence that followed.

"I got your letter," Snape said softly.

Harry blushed. "Did you? I'm glad. I…I wasn't sure if I should send it."

"Why shouldn't you have?"

"I-I dunno," Harry shrugged. "After what happened? I mean, our friendship was all well and good when I was at Hogwarts, but I wasn't really sure you'd want to continue it once I'd left. It caused more than enough problems while I was your student."

"I am always glad to hear from you," Snape admitted.

Harry blushed again. "O-oh, okay." He drew a deep breath. Why the hell was this so hard?

At the school, it had been so easy to dismiss his wayward feelings for the Potions Master. There had been rules, and a thousand accusations, standing between them. But for whatever reason, here, away from the school and the rules that had bound them to their roles, the world seemed full of opportunity. Nevermind that Severus could never possibly feel the same, Harry couldn't quash the nervous hope that rose in his chest each time he caught those brightly burning onyx orbs. Why weren't things ever simple?

Dobby reappeared with a silver tray carrying a tea set. He set it down silently on a low table and disappeared again. Harry moved immediately to pour the tea, grateful for something to do with his trembling, sweaty palms. He very carefully poured them each a cup of the steaming brew, trying and failing to hide the tremor in his hands. Without asking, he spooned out a bit of honey from the open jar and began to stir it into one cup. The tremble of his hand worsened, and the tea cup rattled on it's saucer.

Harry started when slim fingers touched the back of his hand. The spoon fell from his fingers onto the carpet. He immediately bent to pick it up, setting the tea cup aside. Snape had the same idea, and their heads collided on the way down. Harry grunted with pain as he started to fall back, and hands on his arms stopped him.

"See," He mumbled, reaching up to rub at his bruised forehead. "A walking accident."

"Are you alright?"

Harry nodded. "M'fine…You?"

"I shall survive." Snape murmured.

Harry looked up sheepishly, his hand falling to settle on his bent knee. "Told you, I'm more trouble than I'm worth," He joked.

Snape's face was serious as he stared into Harry's eyes. "I could use a little trouble now and again."

Harry frowned uncertainly, and then Snape was kissing him. Green eyes slid shut as a swell of emotion burst in his chest. He pressed forward, but before he could really respond, Snape was pulling away. Harry's eyes fluttered open, and he stared into the uncertain black gaze with mingled surprise and lust. He had no idea what had brought that on, but he definitely wanted it to happen again.

This time, Harry closed the distance between them, breathing deeply of the desire wafting off the Potions Master as their mouths clashed. Magic sparked harmlessly between them, and long fingers burrowed into his hair, drawing him even closer. He reached out with a driving need and dragged the man nearer to him, shifting onto his own knees to diminish the space between them further. He should stop; he should pull away and laugh it off. This was a mistake. This was…this was playing with fire, and Harry wanted to be burned.

As can only happen when caught in the throes of mutual passion, Harry discovered their clothing was only barely an obstacle as he was laid back against the carpet in the library at Grimmauld. The rough feel of the fabric scratched at his naked back as he fumbled with the Potions Master's belt. He finally found the small key, and slipped the black leather loose of its ring. After that, their pants proved as small an obstacle as their shirts had been. Harry arched up into feel of nails raking over his stomach, and he felt the glide of a gently weeping head press against him. He wiggled needily against it.

Snape pulled away to stare breathlessly down at him. "You're sure?" His deep baritone rumbled softly.

Harry shifted so his hips rose off of the scratchy carpet beneath him. "Take me," He murmured. "Make me yours."

And so, the Death Eater stole away inside of the Savior of the Wizarding World. The Gryffindor gave a shout of pained ecstasy as their bodies writhed together. Their passions took them, and they rode together towards oblivion, their cries echoing off the library walls. Fingers clawed and hips pressed together in a frenzied rhythm. Teeth bit and lips suckled wherever they could reach. This wasn't the gentle caress Harry had dreamed of. Their bodies thrust together with a fervor more befitting of his age, and he moaned loudly in response to the throaty, lustful groans being elicited above him. This was more than simple desire, this was a driving need to consume, and be consumed by, one another.

The explosive fire of climax drew closer, like a naked demon clamoring to be free of it's cage. Harry shouted his excitement into the thick air, pressing back with each cloying thrust. Snape slammed forward angrily, each thrust driving Harry nearer to the edge. Oblivion crashed upon him with a tidal wave of fire that boiled the blood in his veins.

With their passions spent, Harry gasped for air as Snape collapsed onto the carpet beside him. For the longest moment, they lay beside each other, the only sound their lungs clawing desperately for each breath as the heavily saturated air cooled their naked, sweat-soaked skin. Suddenly, Snape sat up, sidling away from Harry as if he were a poison.


	28. Chapter 28

Severus sat up from the carpet and moved away. Shame stabbed at his heart angrily, ripping a hole in his chest even as he began to seek out his clothing. What…what had he just done? He had come here as a friend and his thoughtless, selfish desire had destroyed that. Severus flinched as calloused fingers touched his back hesitantly.

"I'm sorry," He said quickly, hoping to preempt the anger no doubt brewing under that golden skin. "I-I shouldn't have…I'm sorry."

"Why?" Potter queried innocently.

"I shouldn't have done that."

"Done _what_?" Potter demanded.

Severus turned to see Potter sitting up behind him, staring at him with unveiled curiosity and hurt. "I took advantage of you," Severus said as if it were obvious. "I for-"

Potter cut him off rather spectacularly by pulling him into a hard, insistent kiss. Despite his guilt and shame, Severus returned the kiss immediately, trailing his fingers over bronze flesh. Potter pulled away with a smirk.

"You did no such thing," The Gryffindor said. "I wanted it as much, if not more, than you did."

Severus smirked, laying his forehead against his young lovers. "I find that hard to believe. I'm more than twice your age."

"Your point?" Potter hissed, his hand trailing over Severus' naked thigh. Severus was surprised to feel himself hardening again already as calloused fingers trailed near to his burning desire. Strong fingers wrapped around him, drawing a gasp of need. "Your body seems to disagree with your assessment."

Severus drew the younger man into a slow, agonizing kiss as he lay over top of him, pressing him back onto the rough rug that had already left it's mark on them both. Their bodies glided against each other, slickened by sweat. Without hesitation, the Savior of the Wizarding World impaled himself slowly on the spear of the former Death Eater's passion. When they rejoined in the hollow of lovemaking, Severus continued to glide forward again and again in a deliberate, lethargic press of his hips. This was an act of discovery, rather than the harsh drive of lustful desire they'd experienced only moments before.

The copulating press and glide of their hips was slow and exploratory. Desire sparked between them, but a deeper emotion lit Severus' blood aflame as his soul yearned to mesh with his former student. There was no fervent need here, as their bodies arched together, consummating unspoken vows of love and devotion.

Slowly, so slowly, Severus felt it as he was led again to the edge of the world. He stared fearlessly into the abyss beyond, and let gravity carry him over into clarity's blinding embrace. The universe exploded within him with a cry of spent passions. Exhaustion stole over them like a thief in the night. Severus lay beside his beloved Gryffindor, drawing his very own robes up to shield them from the naked air. As Potter began to drift in his arms, the Potions Master felt worry gnaw at his heart over what he would find in the light of a new sun when he woke. Worry carried him gently down into sleep's warm embrace.

 _-Break-_

Severus awoke with a start. The vision of his dream, of the disgust on bronze features and in green eyes, played against his mind's eye even as he pulled free of his nightmare. He looked immediately for the warmth that he'd fallen asleep with, but there was none to be found. A dagger of fear and hurt stabbed at his heart. Potter had gone.

Shame hurried the Potions Master's movements as he dressed in discarded clothing. Of course Potter had gone. What could an old Death Eater possibly offer to a young man as beautiful as that? The pain of resignation slowed his fingers as he picked up his robes. The black cloth had lain against that golden, naked skin unabashedly through the night. Jealously, Severus tossed the robes aside and returned to pulling on his clothes. He looked up as the door to the library opened and Potter walked in, shirtless and barefoot.

The Gryffindor grinned. "I guess that answers the question about whether I'd have to wake you. You spoil my fun. I've got coffee brewing if you want some."

Severus looked away in shame. "Potter…I must apologize. Last night…I never intended-"

As he had the night before, Potter silenced Severus with an earnest kiss that sparked desire low in his belly. When Potter pulled away this time, however, there was no smirk. His emerald eyes were hard flints, and he wore a serious frown.

"If you regret last night, then tell me now. I'd rather have a broken heart than foolishly let myself believe in a false love for another moment," Potter said sternly.

Severus frowned. "I do not regret last night," He assured the younger wizard. "But, should anyone find out, the accusations-"

"Shouldn't matter," Potter interrupted. "I think you're worth fighting for, Severus. If it's your job at the school that's worrying you, I'll back off and we can revisit this in a year or so when suspicions have died down. If, however, you simply don't feel the same about me as I do you, then say so. Don't hide behind prudence. I'm a big boy, I can take it."

"I _do not_ regret last night," Severus said again more insistently. He wrapped his arms around the low-slung hips. "And you need never worry if I would fight for you. Whatever we face as a result of what we've just done, I know I can survive with you at my side. My reputation has survived worse disasters than this. Yours, however…"

"Could use a few black marks," Potter said, wrapping his own arms around Severus' neck. "It's about time the Wizarding World stopped seeing me as their perfect little savior. As to what we've done…I don't care about your past, Severus, or what the public sees when they look at you. I only care about _you_ , and I pray that you feel the same."

Severus smirked. "I am afflicted with a deep fondness for you, as well."

"Thank Merlin for that." Severus instinctively tightened his hold on the young man in his arms as Lupin came into the room. "Because otherwise I'd have been forced to kill you on principle for what I heard last night. I don't think either of you realized that my room is directly above the library, or that werewolves, even docile ones, have excellent hearing."

Severus felt a tan cheek heat up against his chest. "Moony…we-"

"Don't, Harry," Remus said, smiling at them both. "Neither of you have to explain anything to me. I'm glad you've found each other, I really am. I presume none of this was going on at the school."

Severus drew to his full height angrily. "I would _never_!"

"I believe you," Remus said calmly. "As for the rest of the world, I don't see why _anyone_ has to know about this until you're both ready. You're both rather adept at discretion, as far as I've seen, and Grimmauld has an unmonitored floo network because of the Order."

"Are you suggesting we lie to everyone we know?" Potter asked incredulously.

"It's not a lie if no one asks. And I can think of no reason why they should."

Potter grinned. "Thanks, Moony." He turned to Severus, who looked down into his earnest green gaze adoringly. "Okay?"

Severus frowned. "It is not, as a matter of fact." Potter frowned as well. He tried to pull away, but Severus held tight to him as he continued. "As I said, I am as willing to fight for you as you are for me. I refuse to hide in the shadows, where I have spent most of my life. If it weren't terribly cliché, I would announce my devotion to you from atop the Astronomy Tower. I will settle, though, for being sure everyone knows you are mine, and I am yours. Unless you'd prefer otherwise?"

Potter struggled visibly for a moment, chewing his lower lip adorably, then nodded firmly. "Then a fight we shall have. I love you, Severus…and if you're okay with that, then I don't care _who_ knows about us. Are you sure, though? There'll almost certainly be another inquiry."

"With you by my side, Harry, I could face that and worse," Severus murmured. "I love you, too."

Forgetting for the moment that they were not alone, Severus melted into the tender kiss that he shared with his young Gryffindor. There would be a fight, but they would face it together. And, thanks to the presupposing suspicions of their closest friends, they already knew that they would, eventually, be accepted, at least by those who mattered most.

 **A/N: If you want a sequel, read the story again while pretending Harry and Severus are giving testimony under Veritaserum at the second Inquiry hearing. There, you've got your sequel.**


End file.
